Falls The Shadow
by BoomChick
Summary: Prequel to Rakuengaki's "The Good Doctor's Plan." Before Sephiroth and Zack can save Cloud, they must escape Hojo's lab. With the scars of Nibelheim staining their friendship, and a madman in control of their lives, how did they escape? Warnings within. *On Hiatus*
1. The Dead Land

**Author's Notes:**

**Well... I never thought I'd see myself here. This story, as warned in the blurb, is the prequel to Rakuengaki's "The Good Doctor's Plan." However, due to Raku and I not wishing to repeat the same scenes over and over in her flashbacks and my prequel, this story will probably not make much sense unless you have read the original fic! Sorry, I know it's a strange way to handle things. Trust me, I never saw myself writing a prequel for someone else's story, but when my leibchen asked me to write the prequel to her story (which I'm absolutely enamored with) I couldn't bring myself to turn her down! So here it is: Falls the Shadow. I don't know what else I can possibly say, except to warn you that I've never done a fic like this before, and ask for your kind indulgence and patience. Oh, and to warn you. Here there be slash, violence, torture, Hojo, and multitudinous other warnings to follow as they arise. Please leave me reviews with any questions, comments, thoughts, or problems! They are my inspiration.**

**I own none of the characters depicted in this story. They are all the property of FFVII, except for Marvin Langley, who belongs to Rakuengaki.**

**Please read "The Good Doctor's Plan!" It's an incredible fic, and deserves a larger reader base!**

**EDIT: Due to me not liking the way this story was flowing, all of the journal entries and letters that were previously here have been removed. Also, I added some bits. Because I wanted to. And I'm the author. Muahahahaha... yeah. If you would like to read the journal entries of Prof. Hojo, look out for a new side-fic to this one that's about the mad scientist's role in all this! It be comin' soon.**

Falls the Shadow

Chapter One: The Dead Land

Coming to on the stairs, Zack could feel what strength he had remaining slipping away with his blood, sliding down in miniature waterfalls. Metal grating bit sharply into his temple, but he could not find the energy to push himself off the slick steps. The red light of the room faded bright to dim and back in his vision, punctuated with the warping roar of machinery. It all felt ridiculously distant, and Zack knew exactly why. His brain had stopped functioning when the man he idolized and respected raised his sword against the innocents of Nibelheim, and became a murderer instead of a soldier. Angeal would have beaten him senseless.

He felt himself choke on blood, and smiled a little as his lungs tried to expel themselves. He couldn't even feel it. The coughing fit sent him sliding, and he barely recognized the bruising impact of a new series of metal shelves. The old blood on his body was crusting uncomfortably on his skin. He wondered if Sephiroth had slaughtered Cloud yet, or if by some miracle the cadet had triumphed, or perhaps forced Sephiroth to his senses. Zack laughed softly at the fragile hope, Sephiroth's crazed eyes and lighting fast sword flashing through his mind. Spiky probably hadn't stood a chance. So here he was, gasping for breath and alone, surrounded by his own sticky blood, and the rising guilt of having sent Cloud to his death. Zack couldn't help but think maybe he himself would have stood a chance against Hojo's creation had he given it his all. But even with the blind madness and crazed eyes, it had still been Sephiroth standing against him, the lonely man who Zack had sworn to stand beside and protect. He had wavered, and by the time he realized that to protect Sephiroth and to destroy him had become one and the same, it had been too late. Now what hopes he had rested on the thin shoulders of a young cadet, who had lost his family and friends to his lover, and who one way or another would fail now, and lose all he had left. And Zack, coward that he was, lay bleeding and waiting for his former best friend to finish him off. It was taking the usually deadly efficient general longer than Zack would have thought. The wait was far worse than the pain slowly working its way into his awareness as his mako enhanced blood fought off the murderous shock he had fallen into.

Time dragged past, and still nothing changed in the groaning red-lit reactor's room. Zack's quick healing abilities finally kicked in, having eaten away the numbing effects of shock, leaving Zack winded by pain, before turning to his wounds. Zack waited, watching the stairs duplicate in his blurred vision, and wondering when Sephiroth would come. The moment his arms once more obeyed his command to move, Zack started dragging himself upwards, towards the atrocity. He was sure that… _thing _Sephiroth had so reverently called 'mother' was at fault for the general's madness, and Zack was damned well going to try and destroy it, though he knew it was a long shot. Waiting and giving in had never come easily to him, and he had no intention of changing that now. He hauled himself to the next stair, biting back a grunt, and feeling the cold sweat on his skin replaced with the new exertion. Moving was hell. It would have been easier with someone else there for him to whine to, but he was alone, and if Sephiroth had forgotten the miniscule threat he represented, Zack was unwilling to remind him with a pained soliloquy. Hauling himself up another step, Zack silently cursed his non-functional legs, and wondered if Sephiroth had broken his damn back.

Another stair, and Zack had to resist a dark chuckle as he realized how quickly his mind had accepted that Sephiroth was an enemy. The name that had once been associated only with friendship and respect now had the bitter sting of betrayal tainting its familiar syllables.

Another step, and his shoulders were finally resting on the platform above the stairs. Relief filled his aching chest, even as dread twisted his stomach. Somewhere up here was Sephiroth. Somewhere up here was Cloud's body. Zack bit back the bile rising in his throat and tried to fight through the horror blanketing his thoughts to achieve the warrior's calm. It proved to be completely elusive, and Zack knew he was running out of time. The sharp tingle of mako left his legs, and he slowly stood, body trembling around the iron will that held it upright. Zack started walking, and wondered if the acidic, iron stench permeating the room was all from his own blood. He staggered against the wall, sagging onto it briefly as he gasped for breath. He dimly wondered if he would ever be able to eat fish again, now that he knew what they felt like on land. The burning in his lungs didn't ease, and the pit of stress and anguish curled tighter inside his torso. He pushed off the wall and stepped inside the reactor room. The view waiting for him froze him in place, etching itself piece by piece into his memory.

The mako reactor's ambient glow lit the scene. Straight in front of and above Zack the beautiful, revolting feminine creature hung suspended, half-smiling at the scene below her. On the platform beneath, like sacrifices on a twisted alter, the crumpled bodies of Sephiroth and Cloud lay, in perfect opposition to each other. On one side, a young broken angel, blonde hair just beginning to stain red as the pool of blood slowly widened around him, and on the other, a once mighty demon, silver hair tarnishing where it touched the flood of black liquid surrounding him. Both wore matching expressions of misery. Though it was probably his legs finally giving out under him, Zack would always think of the momentary plummet that followed as the exact second his world fell out form under him. He had lost them both, after swearing to protect the friends he had left. Darkness rose up to claim him, and Jenova smiled down upon three ruined lives.

Zack would never remember exactly what the men in white coats were screaming about when he half-awoke to a tirade. He hadn't really been focusing at the time (and oh, he thought, how Angeal would scold him for that), and had only one thought on his mind.

"Cloud…" He muttered, turning his head to the side. He saw nothing. Only cold steel and scientists with blurred faces. None of them addressed him, and he felt a sharp prick in his arm that could only be a needle. He arched against it, struggling with the last strength he had to get free, to make sure someone knew about Spiky and was going to help him. The injection still hit its mark despite his resistance, and he felt the immediate numbing feeling of a sedative rushing through him. It wouldn't last long. They never did with Mako enhancements.

He suddenly realized that the people around him probably didn't know what happened. He opened his mouth to warn them about Sephiroth, but couldn't quite remember how the talking thing worked. He found it deeply frustrating, and fell into a pout. Here he was trying to do the honorable thing, and his mouth wouldn't cooperate with him. Neither would the scientists, for that matter. The pale blurs that had surrounded him were moving away again, towards the angry voice.

As Zack drifted out of touch with the world again, he wondered how Sephiroth would react to the retelling of thisdream. Probably in the same way he listened to all the dreams Zack related. With far too much attention, and a wary look in his eye, as though he was being presented with a very unusual new food rather than a story. Then he would simply nod his acknowledgement at the end of the tale and turn back to the paperwork he had ignored for the sake of indulging Zack. Of course, he might be a little angry to find out that he had been cast as the villain in this particular dream, but Zack was pretty sure he would be forgiven. He would always be "Angeal's Puppy" to Sephiroth, no matter what he did.

Which, of course, was why the dream was so ludicrous, Zack thought with a hazy yawn. Sephiroth would never go against his best friend's desires and turn on Zack; on all of Shinra. He certainly would never have turned on Cloud. Sephiroth considered the blonde cadet to be the best thing to come his way since Genesis and Angeal had first arrived. Zack fell back into unconsciousness feeling less alone, and secure in the fact that when he awoke, there would be a solid, reassuring Sephiroth waiting to roll his eyes at the nightmare that had given Zack so much unease.


	2. Gesture Without Motion

**A/N Wheee.... Fanfics are easier with more characters. Please enjoy the Zangst, and drop me a line on what you think! Feedback feeds the plot bunny machine.**

**Oh, and Zack's still not mine.**

Chapter 2—Gesture Without Motion

Zack woke up confused. This was not an unusual occurrence, but it always meant the day to follow would not be a good one. With a little moan, Zack moved. That certainly served to wake him up the rest of the way.

"Ow" he groaned into the silence. His mind silently cursed Angeal's training. Right up until he remembered that Angeal was no longer there to curse. He himself had made sure of that. Suddenly, his body didn't seem to hurt as much.

He slanted his eyes open, swallowing down the tightness in his throat and attempting with limited success to concentrate on the present. His gaze was greeted with blinding whiteness. He tried to recall exactly where he was, but his brain was responding about as fast as a Shinra politician. It took him almost a minute to realize that whatever he was lying on was very hard and quite uncomfortable. It took him another thirty seconds to decide to fix that. With a world-weary groan, Zack levered himself up to his elbows and took a proper look around. There was not much to see. Blank walls and glaringly bright fluorescent light framed a room empty save for a toilet in one corner and the heavy metal cot on which he was reclining. There was one door, without a handle, across the room from him. There was something off about the door, but Zack had to close his eyes again before he could figure out what it was. He felt strangely weak, and everything felt too vivid. He realized suddenly that it was exactly the way he felt after a Mako treatment. Even normal lights were too much for him after an injection. The fluorescents were giving him a spiking migraine and making his stomach turn.

His mind chose that moment to remind him that Sephiroth, his idol, was a murderer. Zack slumped back and let his head bang into the hard bed beneath him.

Sephiroth was a murderer, and Cloud was… was what? He couldn't for the life of him remember whether Spiky had been breathing, lying there on that platform. All he recalled was red on blonde, tarnished silver, and falling.

A shuddering breath forced its way past his lips. Everyone was gone. He lifted a shaking hand to cover his eyes, and did not attempt to stop the tears streaming into his hair. This time, not even Aerith was there to offer him any comfort. He lay alone, choking back sobs into the unforgiving silence and glaring light for what felt like years.

-- -- --

Once he grew tired of misery, Zack became intimately acquainted with the room. The lights were an unchanging intensity, and there was no light switch. Being who he was, that did not deter him from attempting to take them out bare handed, but the bed was bolted to the floor, so he could not stand high enough to see what he was doing. He attempted to shut them off by force, and was rewarded with a set of bruised knuckles. The glass didn't even crack. With a pouting scowl, he accepted that the light probably would not yield to puppy eyes and moved over to inspect the door.

There was a miniscule window carved in the solid white frame, right at Zack's eye level. There was nothing to see through it but another door across from him and a short, gray hall to either side. The window in the opposing door was empty, and showed only more blinding white within the next room. Zack leaned his forehead against the chilly pane and drew in a long, calming breath, placing a shaking hand where the doorknob ought to have been, and where there was nothing. But something did smell like new paint.

Zack furrowed his brow and peeked into the whiteness once more to find its source. There were small imperfections on the door, where the white was a slightly different shade and texture. Zack scraped lightly at it with a fingernail (which, he noted, had grown long enough that Angeal would have scolded him). A sliver of the paint came away under his nail, and a glint of metal shone through. Zack cocked his head slightly at the imperfection and muttered a soft, "huh." Curiosity piqued, and not too excited about examining the room's only other feature (a toilet as white as everything else,) Zack scraped more vigorously at the door. The newer paint came away like snow under his fingers, but the older was much tougher, and was quite capable of breaking his nails painfully if he didn't watch himself. As he scraped, he noticed a pattern. All of the marks on the door were long scratches, which came in sets of three large and two small.

He held up his hand to the deepest of the marks he had uncovered, and felt his gut twist as he realized what had made the mark. Someone had been trying to claw their way out. Zack blinked slowly, sat down beside the door, and tried to imagine how desperate he would have to be.

-- --

He found that the toilet flushed with a boring, mechanical rushing sound. Zack had been hoping for something more amusing, like the sort that blubbered or hiccupped before getting on with their jobs. He only flushed it ten times before growing bored of that and moving on to look for other entertainment.

-- --

The cot he had woken up on was built low to the ground, without enough room for a grown man to fit underneath. Zack discovered this only after attempting to fit underneath, and briefly missed his days of being a lanky teenager rather than a filled-out soldier. Nevertheless, before attempting to wrench his shoulders free from the rather tight metal-to-floor grip they were caught in, he reveled in the shade and breathed more easily despite being stuck. He also took the opportunity to inspect the bolts holding the bed down. They were sturdy, and shone dull silver in the light (he did not allow that silver to remind him of anyone, though as boredom overwhelmed him, it seemed inevitable.) He moved his fingers slowly over the solid, concrete floor he was pressed against, noting its smoothness and strength, and wondered again where exactly he had ended up.

When he wriggled out, he felt the slight scrapes on his shoulders healing more slowly than usual, and suddenly remembered that he had been stabbed. He ripped the shirt (which was army issue, but most certainly not his) off his shoulders and lowered fingers to where Masamune had pierced him. There remained only a faint pink scar, and a memory of searing pain. Zack could not help but feel new empathy for the people of Wutai, who stood against that blade and did not cower. He had the feeling that if he ever saw it again, he would run.

-- --

As he felt sleep stealing over him for the first time since arriving in the bizarre room, Zack wondered when someone would come for him, and hoped they would be bringing good news. He also hoped they would be bringing something to eat, because hunger was starting to gnaw at his stomach.

-- --

Zack discovered that the room was not quite a square. It was seven steps long, then six steps wide. If he walked in a full circuit of the room instead of only the two featureless walls, it became seven steps long by six steps wide, by eight steps long, because he had to go around the toilet, by nine steps wide, same problem with the bed. He could technically have still managed the bed's wall in seven steps, but he would have had to step onto the bed itself. Once around was thirty and a half steps, though he was not entirely sure where the half came from. Seven times around was two hundred thirteen and a half steps. Zack did not figure this out with math. He just counted as he paced in circles. Later he discovered that if he imitated Angeal's swagger, he could cut it down to twenty six steps to get around the room. He tried to imitate Sephiroth's gliding gate, but only managed to stub his toes on the damned cot. Then he turned around and repeated the process in the other direction, and tried very hard not to think.

-- --

His second time falling asleep in the room, Zack wondered if screaming for someone would help. He considered that, perhaps, there were other SOLDIERs just outside the grey hall, who did not know where he was. He wouldn't have blamed them, since he didn't know where he was either. His eyes fell shut before he could implement his plan. Even while he slept, the lights never flickered.

-- --

When he woke up again, Zack started making a list of everything he missed while running through his warm ups, hands closed around the hilt of an imaginary Buster Sword. Aerith, Cloud, Sephiroth, Angeal, and an endless list of his friends and family came first, in varying orders, and often repeated as Zack forgot who he had already listed. His much beloved memento and faithful weapon was always near the top of the list as well. So was the overcrowded SOLDIER mess hall, and his own brand new private quarters. He had been planning to get Aerith to come over and help him decorate, but had never gotten the chance.

It was a diverting pastime, trying to remember everyone he had ever cared about, and memories of smiles kept him warm and relaxed during his work out. When he had been listing off the things he missed long enough that he was certain he had repeated everything he loved at least twice, he started counting off the things he didn't miss. Nibelheim got place number one on the list. Place number two went to Shinra, and Genesis had to settle for third. Zack smirked a little at that and nodded in satisfaction. It would defiantly annoy the fiery first to be below a little hic town that was no more than embers. Zack added Professors Hojo and Hollander to the list, then counted it done and tucked it away, turning back to trying to decide whether to put Cisseni ahead of Tseng or behind him in the miss category.

-- --

Zack tried to piece together the lullabies his mother used to sing to him before he decided to be a hero, and could remember every tune but not a single word. So he hummed them to himself as he did squats in a corner of the room. He had started out in the center, but it seemed too exposed to him while in enemy territory, despite the fact that he was obviously already at the mercy of whoever held him. His stomach gave a soft, forlorn growl, then fell silent.

-- --

Zack had never closed his eyes while doing squats before. He always preferred to use it as a time to practice his blank SOLDIER gaze, though it was often broken down into a smile when someone more interesting than exercise interrupted him. He closed his eyes in the room to block out the glare, and found that the insides of his eyelids appeared a strange green-white shade from the after-image.

-- --

On squat number five hundred and twenty seven, Zack's legs gave out from under him, and he sat stunned in silence, because there had never been a time when someone did not stop him before he hurt himself or gave out. Angeal had always been there to warn him, or Sephiroth to distract him, or Cloud to make quiet, sarcastic remarks at his insufferable stamina. More than the solitude and pain, it was that which made Zack realize he was truly alone. He did not cry that time, but sat against the wall in silence, staring intently at the nothing of the room.

-- --

Zack decided that no one was coming the fifth time he faced sleep in the room. His head and eyes hurt constantly, and he was fairly certain his sight was starting to fade. For the first time he could remember, Zack lost hope.

-- --

The door opened without a sound, one week after the awakening of Project ZII, and admitted him to a whole new hell.


	3. Of Empty Men

**A/N: Many thanks to those of you still reading. I know this thing's a bit of a monster to get through. Promise I'm working on making it more readable! Please drop me a line and tell me what you think. Many thanks for the reviews, Imaxgoxgnomgnomxonxya! Enjoy the angst! And sorry in advance.**

**FFVII is not mine. But the jerks who work for Hojo are!**

Chapter 3-- Of Empty Men

"Where am I?" Zack questioned as he followed the white-coated woman down the grey hall that he had gazed at from the inside of his cell. She said nothing, only stalked on through the next door, heels clicking decisively on the hard floor. Zack was not used to being ignored, and was desperate for human contact. He had no idea how long he'd been in the room, but it had felt like years. "Hey, did you hear me?" he questioned the woman. He was hesitant to inquire anything of the burly, obviously modified troopers closely following him. The young woman leading the way through an increasingly narrow set of brief hallways and small rooms seemed much more approachable, but still did not respond. Her pace never slowed or faltered. He considered the possibility that she might be one of Tseng's people, but he knew enough Turks to know no one of them was dumb enough to be caught wearing heels on the job. Not unless there were knives concealed in them. He glanced at the woman's shoes, and felt reasonably certain that one could not have hidden knives in the thin platforms she wore.

So not a Turk, but silent. The white coat gave Zack an increased feeling of dread. It reminded him of darkness in Angeal's eyes and whispers among cadets of twisted experiments. The woman led him into one final room, this one equipped with a treadmill and a large range of screens covered in symbols Zack did not understand. She faced him for the first time since she had ordered him out of his cell and briefly looked him up and down. It was not the sort of appreciative look Zack was used to. Instead it reminded him of watching Chocobo being picked out for the trainees to ride. She was measuring him up. He drew in a breath to ask another question, but she cut him off in a voice as sharp as her shoes.

"You will take off your shirt," She ordered, "and allow us to place monitors on you." Zack blinked at her.

"Um… What?" He asked incredulously. Unfortunately, incredulous on him always came out sounding innocent and somewhat wounded. The effect on people was usually the same, though. The woman just blinked and droned out the order again, gaze never wavering from the air right above Zack's head, leaving the young man with the distinct impression that the command was not a come on. He glanced back warily at the guards behind him.

"Look," he said with a shrug, "I don't even know who you people are! Sorry, but I can't just follow orders from anyone."

The woman stared at him for a moment more, then pointed up to the wall behind Zack. He turned, and started a little to see the Shinra symbol hung upon the wall like a battle flag. Turning back to the woman, he looked her over in surprise. "You're with Shinra?" He cried, surprise clear in his voice. The woman said nothing more, but wrinkled her nose ever so slightly in distaste. "But… I'm a SOLDIER." Zack said, voice a little quieter and not as brash in light of the new information. His own people had been holding him captive, and it did not make sense.

With a black look, the woman spoke again. "Remove your shirt now, or you will be reprimanded." Zack glanced back at the men behind him, then up to the Shinra symbol, and slowly stripped off his shirt, brows knotted in confusion. The woman made note of something on her clipboard and turned away from him after his compliance. Zack stood half-naked in the strange, cold room, utterly bewildered and lost. He could not make his mind comprehend that Shinra, the people for whom he had sacrificed everything, were behind his imprisonment. Some lingering bit of the person he had been, once, before Nibelheim, screamed at him to fight back now, before he got trapped. But the caution Angeal had instilled in him regarding their benevolent leaders was all but lost under a sea of guilt and regret, and Zack did not fight back as sensors were placed on his temples and over his heart, and when the woman started the treadmill and told him to start running, he obeyed without complaint, because really, he didn't have anything left to fight for.

There was, at least, a clock in the room with the treadmill. Zack could not see it, because the woman held it in her hand, but at regular intervals she would look over the monitors and make notes, and check the small stopwatch she held. Each time she caught him looking at her, she would say "remain looking forward" with increasing tones of boredom and frustration. If he attempted to speak, she would say "remain silent." He wondered if she had a phrase ready if he attempted to run in a handstand. It was an idea which amused him briefly, but he couldn't find the energy to perform the little stunt. Somewhere in the past few days, he had lost that part of himself, and despite all appearances, he was a SOLDIER, and when it was required of him, he could follow orders.

He ran, looking straight forward and silent, for longer than he had ever run in one place before, because the woman did not tell him to stop. It was somewhat pleasant, Zack thought silently, to be allowing his body to move. It made him feel more like himself and less like the prisoner in the white cell. He thought that for the first few hundred steps. Then he started to think that, perhaps, he would never get off the moving track. Zack's stamina was nothing to be scoffed at, but he was hungry, and weary from stress, and even he was not above starvation or exhaustion. Not even Sephiroth was.

It was slightly comforting to remember the general falling asleep in the middle of movie nights, or ordering out for so much Wutaian food Zack had pitied the chefs who would have to make late night runs for more ingredients. It distracted him well enough that he tripped over unfamiliar boots and barely caught his balance before introducing his face to the moving track beneath him. The woman said nothing as he regained himself and kept running. She only made a soft clicking noise and took another note.

Zack stumbled more often after that, and more frequently. He tried to draw upon the reserves of energy which had never failed him in the past, feeling himself start to wear out. He found them empty, and finally fell forward, catching himself on his forearms and wincing at the impact. The tread stopped under him before he was pulled off the machine by rough hands. He tried to take his weight back on his feet, and found to his amazement that he could not. He could barely raise his head to look at the woman in front of him. His blood was rushing so loud in his ears he barely heard her next, heart-stopping words.

"Four hours. Below what we expected. Hold it while I get a blood sample, then put it back in the cell."

Zack's eyes widened in horror as she watched the woman stick a needle into his arm. "Woah, wait," he cried, voice hitching slightly in panic. "You're not serious, are you?" He tried to flinch away, but one guard held his arm steady while the other held him in place. It was painful to realize that without them, he would have fallen to the ground. As she drew away with a full vial of blood, he caught her hand in a last burst of energy, and managed to grate out "please, no!" before something halfway familiar pulsed painfully through his body, making his fingers loose their grip on her slim fingers and his legs jerk uncontrollably.

As the world faded around him, Zack recognized it as the same sensation he had experienced the one time Reno had allowed his mag rod to discharge while Zack was attempting to steal it. That time, at least, someone had been there with him, to give him a hand up and a half-meant apology. Now, he was simply dragged away by two unfamiliar bodies. It occurred to him to struggle, but his limbs simply wouldn't cooperate. The numbing effect of the electric shock had not worn off, and it had rendered his already exhausted limbs utterly useless.

When they threw him back into the white on white on white of the room, Zack had only enough energy left to curl up into a ball and start shuddering.

After that, things only improved in that they started feeding him. Water was provided regularly, and the food was bland, but existent. Zack considered not bothering with eating it, the first few times, but Angeal's advice regarding retaining one's energy haunted him into partaking. He only remembered Angeal's warning about poison afterwards, and shrugged it off lightly. He was well aware that Mako could effectively fight off most poisons, and that Shinra was unlikely to so offhandedly do away with a first-class. Besides, if he had been poisoned, no amount of worrying would change it.

There was no poison, and the next morning he was able to run for a longer period of time, and listen to more thrilling yawns and orders from the cold, pretty woman Zack was growing to hate as much as the white room. As far as he was concerned, they were the same; blank and empty. But the Shinra flag behind him, and the unanswered questions in his head kept him from speaking (much) or fighting. He never saw anyone but the woman and what he assumed were the same two troopers. It took him a few days to decide that their company was worse than the loneliness of the room he had been confined within. (He assumed they were taking him out once a day, but it was difficult to tell. The light was always the same everywhere.) While he had been alone, he could remember the kindness of the people he was no longer with, but it was hard to remember good old Kunsel or charming Cloud when faced with the nameless, heartless beings who came for him.

One thought stuck in his head beyond the others: if Sephiroth had thought he was a monster, he obviously didn't correctly understand the definition. These mockeries of people were far more monstrous than the Demon of Wutai. Sephiroth had never denied the humanity of those he killed.

The seventeenth time they took Zack to the treadmill, the woman had a list of words with her, and read them out one by one, making note of the spikes on the monitors ahead of Zack as she said each one. Zack was not allowed to respond, but even he could see the change in whatever those monitors recorded as her cold voice recited first every nickname he had ever been given (he nearly threw up hearing the word "puppy" come from those hated lips,) then the names of those close to him, his hometown, his teachers from the cadet program, his first lover, and every person he had ever lost. It went on for too long, and felt like she was picking pulling the stitches out of an unhealed wound. When she'd said Sephiroth's name, Zack had found himself unable to hold back any longer and had lunged at her. It was the second time he became acquainted with the stunning shock the guards carried. It was worth it to briefly see fear on that face he hated so much.

The next day, it was a man who opened his door in the morning. He was no better, but it gave Zack a secret glow of satisfaction.

The first injection came the day after that. It was the usual routine at the beginning; first running until he could no more (he managed five hours that day, and could not restrain a snarl of triumph directed towards the man) but rather than draw a vial of blood afterwards, the man came forward holding a syringe full of something murky and dark. Zack struggled just a little, for appearance more than anything, then felt the slight, familiar prick of a needle in his arm. And then came the ice freezing through his veins.

He never remembered quite what happened in those next few moments. All he remembered was a white-hot pain that was both fire and frost at once, and screaming so loudly he couldn't hear anything but his own voice, shatteringly loud in his own ears. Afterwards, he would look at the scratches on his arms and wonder what had happened. The men would not tell him, but the three people in that room would never forget the sight of the young man trying to dig his veins out of his flesh. The loss of consciousness followed closely after, and was not as much of a mercy as death would have been.

Zack woke up in his cell, dragged himself to the toilet, and threw up until he passed out again. He did not wake until the man came to the door again, and even then he didn't stir. He lay on the floor like a broken doll, eyes blank from pain and mouth parted to emit little whimpers. The man took a blood sample and left Zack to his own devices. They didn't even bother trying to provide him with food that night. It would have been wasted.

That night, Zack dreamed of power and destruction he had never imagined before. He dreamed of flying through the stars, and feeling their equal. He dreamed of a loving, motherly voice calling to him, and countless, faceless siblings. Then he dreamed of the cruelty of men, and the pain the planet had forced on him. His every painful moment was condensed into an eon of agony in that dream. But through it all, Zack frowned slightly in confusion, because his mother had the typical Gongaga accent, unlike the voice, and he was an only child.

The voice snapped at him for that, motherly tones growing darker, and Zack felt a pain well up in him at the voice's anger. That was what broke the illusion of family he had fallen into. No one he loved had ever tried to injured him. Images of his parents, gentle and loving, of Angeal, firm but endlessly careful, of Cloud, gentle and calm, and even of Sephiroth, before, when he had been a deeply troubled but dearly beloved friend rose up in Zack's mind. In the end, Zack had been hurt by them all, one way or another, but it had never been their intent. The woman let out a shriek at him, but Zack only smiled and turned away from her.

When the man came to the door the next morning, expecting to find yet another broken puppet on the floor, he was greeted with bright eyes and a smug smile. Zack stood up calmly from where he had been waiting on his cot and gestured silently for the man to lead the way. It was his first time getting to see surprise on the young lab-coated man's face, and he reveled in it. For some reason, he was feeling more like himself that day.

The treadmill was exhausting, but he managed three and a half hours, by the man's mutter, before he succumbed. The man hesitated a moment before he brought over another syringe filled with the dark substance. Zack noticed his uncertainty, and took it as a good sign. The needle pierced his arm once more, and pain flowed through him immediately. But it was not the same. Zack found he could bear it this time. He cringed briefly at the sensation, and was embarrassed to hear a brief whimper escape him, then clenched his teeth against the pain and supported himself on shaking legs, meeting the eyes of the young man before him with an obvious challenge. If the brown eyes facing him could have gotten wider, they would have popped out onto the floor, and Zack smirked at his triumph before the guards escorted him back the room once more.

The day after that, Zack greeted his morning entourage by knocking the first guard out with one of his boots. The whoop of triumph he gave was cut short by the second guard shocking him, but it was definitely worth it. He ran the treadmill barefoot after the confiscated his shoes, and smirked to himself the whole way, every footstep a reminder of the small triumph.

The next day was different, because no one came. Zack sat in the room alone, waiting for his daily challenge, but it never came. Something was happening, Zack was sure, but he was not involved in it. He could faintly make out sounds from outside his cell, which meant they must have been very loud, because he had never heard anything before. He was tempted to pace to relieve his stress, but worried that the noise of his feet might block out the welcome, unregulated sounds that were piercing the thick walls confining him. Instead, he scooted closer to the wall, sitting stock still on his ugly metal cot, and listened.

There were raised voices, though he couldn't hear what was being said. Someone was obviously very angry. It carried on for a long time, and Zack realized after a moment that it was not a conversation, but a rant. It seemed the screamer was frustrated enough to scream to themselves. Zack couldn't repress a smile at the thought of one of his captors being so frustrated. He felt somewhat disappointed when the ranting faded out, but as soon as it had receded, it closed in again, and Zack realized with a sinking feeling that the owner of that grating tone was coming closer to his little room. He stood off the bed and back away as far as he could from the door, as the true anger behind the tone he had so vaguely heard became clearer and clearer.

When the door opened, Zack caught a startling glimpse of the face of none other than Shinra's own Professor Hojo. But even with all the startling revelations that brought with it, that was not what really caught his attention. What caught him was the low-pitched moaning accompanying the doctor's words from someone being dragged behind two of his guards, held by the feet, so Zack could not see who it was through the crack in the door. He stood frozen as Hojo finished his rant.

"Useless as your mother!" the man screamed, every tendon in his neck attempting to make an appearance. "Perhaps this will serve to _motivate_ you properly!"

With that final shriek, the madman made a jerking movement to his guards who threw their burden into the cell with Zack and slammed the door behind it. Zack saw only a flash of silver hair, bright red, and alabaster skin before his cell was filled with a blood-curdling scream forcing its way through the lips of General Sephiroth.


	4. Wind in Dry Grass

**A/N: Well, I got three chapters in before doing a fanfic-wide overhaul! Hope you guys still like the new version. And hey! Here's a chapter four for your trouble. No extra charge.**

**Oh, and I'm sorry. Really. Kinda.**

**I don't own FFVII! But I do own the imaginary Turks in this chapter.**

Chapter 4: Wind in Dry Grass

Shinra was a wreck in the days following The Nibelheim Incident. At a gathering of his troops, the president reported General Sephiroth as missing in action, which sent the room into a quiet panic. When the death of Zackary Fair was announced, the president was unprepared for the explosion of disbelief and anger among the SOLDIER elite. He had expected the wails of cadets and lower members at the loss of one of their own, but as every single member of the first class fell to their knees in misery or solidarity, the president found himself at a loss, and stepped down without completing his speech.

Reno was assigned to the president's guard that day. He should have been alert for any danger, but found himself numb and frozen at the news. He stood stock still and watched the SOLDIERs mourn until Tseng hauled him away from the mourners. He vaguely expected a severe dressing down as he was led into Tseng's private quarters, but instead found himself being pulled into a fierce hug.

The moment Tseng's arms locked around him, Reno dissolved and cried for the lost member of his small family. Even as he fell apart in his boss's hold and dampened the shoulder of the expensive suit with tears, he was expecting Zack to come charging through the door, eyes alight and that ridiculous sword on his back, to tell them what ludicrous circumstance had led to the false report.

Zack never came. Reno stayed in Tseng's hold until the older man gently disengaged the fingers tangled in his suit and hair to put Reno on the sofa and pulled out his phone. Within moments, Rude came sliding through the door, ridiculously graceful for a man of his size, and sat beside Reno, putting one large hand on his partner's stooped back. With someone else for Reno to cling to in the room, Tseng went and made a large pot of tea. Elena and Cissnei joined them soon after, and together they sat through the night in silence, every one of them wishing a particular, brash SOLDIER would barge in to interrupt them. Between the five of them, they neatly depleted Tseng's tea cabinet.

The last time such a gathering had occurred had been the night after Veld's death. Every Turk active at the time had gathered in Tseng's office and sat together listening to each other's breathing. The Turks had belonged to Veld as much as they did Shinra, and losing him had all but destroyed them. Despite the trauma of the event, Tseng, the carefully groomed second in command of their late leader, had climbed into the position of power he was not ready for and somehow managed to hold them all together. The SOLDIERs would not be so lucky. Their general's SiC was dead, and thus no heir to the title of general remained.

When the sun breached the horizon, the Turks disbanded, and reported to their duties. There was no need for any coffee that morning. None of them had come anywhere near sleep. Every time a pair of eyes in that room had closed, it had been to visions of a pale, empty face where life should have been. Reno held Tseng back as they were leaving, and spoke for the first time since the announcement.

"Tseng, about Zack…" he started, voice soft and steady. Tseng interrupted smoothly.

"I've seen to it that the body will be sent back to his parents. You are not to try and find it, Reno. Seeing would do you no good." Reno balked at the coldly spoken words, then bristled.

"Tseng, I need to see him!" he hissed, conscious of the fact that the rest of the building would be waking by now and this was not business to be broadcast. "I'll never believe he's gone, otherwise. I'll always be waiting for him, like with Archer." Tseng stilled for a moment at the mention of the first Turk lost under his command. Archer's body had only been recovered in bits and pieces.

"Reno," Tseng said, and Reno's inner Turk screamed that something was off with the tone; that Tseng was about to lie to him. Whatever the 'something' had been, it vanished before Tseng continued. "I order you not to seek out the body of commander Fair." Reno stiffened.

"But…" he protested, hands clenching into fists.

"That's an order, Reno. See that you obey it. Now move, there's work to be done." Tseng walked off without another word, and left Reno with no choice but to trail along behind him, his normally spirited walk slowed and bent by sorrow and frustration.

Tseng was right about there being work to do, and none of it was pleasant. Four cadets, six third-class, and three second-class SOLDIERs had killed themselves during the night. Seven firsts had attempted to follow, but had been thwarted by the mako in their blood, and twelve lower-ranking SOLDIERs were in the med labs under suicide watch. Two first-classes had succeeded in finishing each other off.

The Turks were put in charge of body removal, and spent a full day moving half-familiar faces to the morgue covered in white blankets while Shinra cleaning staff scrubbed blood and liquids from the floors and walls. It was hard, sickening work, made worse by the fact that every one of the Turks knew that these bodies wouldn't be sent home to their families until the science team got done with them. Despite his anger, Reno was grateful to Tseng for making sure Zack didn't have to suffer that indignity.

The two deceased first classes were so thoroughly dismembered that even the unflappable Rude had to rush from the room to avail himself of the facilities. Reno could hear him retching from where he stood in the doorway, calmly surveying the blood, guts, and various body parts strewn across the room. As he stood stock still, he thought to himself 'this is what it takes to kill a first class. This is what it took to kill Zack Fair. Why haven't we been told what did it?' There was a sneaking suspicion in the back of his head that he didn't dare listen to that the two men whose pieces were so thoroughly mixed now had had the right idea: it takes a first to kill a first.

The room's cooling unit had been damaged, and it got hot quickly. The heat made the stench of blood and intestines all but unbearable. To spare each other as much misery as possible, the Turks agreed to work in rotations, but none of them did anything but stand outside the room staring at the wall while it was not them picking pieces of what used to be a person off the ceiling fans.

Rufus slipped up to meet with them briefly, forcing himself to ignore their haunted looks and blood-tinted gloves to tell them that his father was going to have all of them on watch that night to make sure no more 'incidents' occurred. He sneered so harshly as he recited the message that Reno cracked a little smile. Tseng quickly shooed the young vice president away before he managed to convince one of his friends among the Turks present to let him have a peek at the massacre. Rufus could be very influential, but no one there wanted the boy to have to face such destruction. He was too precious to them.

As he was leaving, Rufus asked Reno for a word, and pulled him away from the others. His eyes were uncharacteristically old when he faced the Turk, and Reno felt himself soften at the empathy in that gaze.

"Reno," the kid said softly, "the Zackary Fair my father reported dead…" Reno stiffened slightly, and Rufus slumped a little. "So he was your friend. I remember you said you wanted him to meet me. That I would like him. I'm sorry I didn't get to."

Reno had to swallow before he could speak. It hurt to think of Zack, but he was so proud of Rufus in that moment that it didn't quite seem like the end of the world anymore. Rufus considered himself a child of the Turks more than the president, and the Turks definitely returned the sentiment. Rufus was as much one of them as anyone.

"Yeah, you woulda loved him, yo." he said, removing one glove to scratch lightly at the side of his face. "And he woulda eaten you up. Don't think he ever met anyone but Hojo he didn't like." Rufus smiled sadly at the closest thing to a childhood playmate he had ever had and placed a gentle hand on Reno's shoulder in brief sympathy, then allowed his guards for the day to escort him away. Reno felt strangely lighter after that, even as he went back about his unpleasant business.

The president summoned Tseng away in the afternoon, and he left his people to finish their jobs with a grim set to his jaw. Reno finished labeling the body parts he could identify and walked silently with Rude to the office they shared in the Turk's section of the building. The office was no different than it had been two nights ago, but it felt colder with one less person who might come inside. Reno sat at his desk and put his head in his hands. He was a Turk, and so prided himself on having a basic knowledge of everyone in the building. It was not something that came in handy on days like this one. He looked through the list of names on his desk of the dead and hospitalized, and saw the name of one of Zack's buddies, Kunsel, in the suicide watch list. Distantly, he wondered what was left to hold the SOLDIER program together now, with the bloody trinity disappeared and the gregarious first-class puppy dead.

Rude placed a large hand on Reno's head, and stood by him, a solid, immovable presence, and Reno was deeply grateful for his support. He had a feeling that the other shoe would drop soon. His feelings were usually right, and this time was no different.

Within the hour, all active Turks were summoned to the ornate gathering room where they held the meetings the president was to know about. The secret ones always went on underneath the building in a quiet cellar. Rufus and Tseng were waiting, facing their people with grim expressions. Rufus had not yet overcome his tendency to display too much emotion, but at times like this, Reno found it useful. The furrow in the middle of the vice president's brow told him that whatever news this was, it would not be pleasant to hear.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Tseng said at just the right timbre and volume to reach all the ears in the room. Reno looked around and saw too many young faces, and deeply missed the older, ragged men who had filled this room when he was young. "The president has made an announcement regarding the SOLDIER program." Though Tseng's voice was even, there was an undeniable tension written on his face. Rufus was watching the Turk leader with the intensity that always meant the kid was imprinting every word in his mind.

Tseng waited until everyone in the room was giving him the same attention before he continued. "In light of recent events, from now until further notice, Turks will be expected to fill in the slack afforded to the SOLDIER troops in their time of need." Every shoulder in the room stiffened, and the restless shuffling of clothing died as the room's inhabitants stopped moving. For a moment, not a single person breathed. Tseng looked at them all with a pain that would have been invisible to any who didn't know him, but which shone like a beacon to his loyal men and women.

"Assignments will be dispersed by the end of the day." He continued softly. "I suggest you all take this evening to get any and all unfinished affairs in order. The president would like me to convey how much he is relying on you all, and how deeply he appreciates the… sacrifices you are willing to make for the company." It escaped no one that Tseng looked greener now than he had picking brain matter off the walls. With one last calm statement of "that is all," he started to step down from the podium, then paused, and, with great gravitas, bowed low and respectfully to all who watched him. A murmur and a shudder flew through the crowd at that. Tseng had never bowed outside political functions before. Everyone in the room knew what it meant. They were in mortal peril, and there was nothing Tseng could do to save them.

Rufus faced them as Tseng stepped down, blinking back tears, and gave a faint nod before following the commander from the room. A path cleared before them, not from disgust or anger, but respect for the two men who had obviously fought the president on this decision and lost. When they were gone, the room did not change in volume. It remained silent, because the Turks had been taught not to speak their worries aloud, but the fear of death was in every pair of eyes, and before Reno could think he had Cissnei in his arms and Elena hiding her face in his shoulder with Rude looking over them and across the rest of the gathering. It was at that moment that Reno realized the full impact of what lay before them.

Swallowing back bile, because Cissnei needed him there to shudder against, Reno started counting in his head how many people he loved, so he would know how many deaths he was waiting for.

The very next day, the assignments began. The Turks were spread thin to cover for the SOLDIERs. The president had confined his troops within the compound where they could not embarrass him in the public's eyes. When they returned that night, it was to the name of the first dead Turk following the president's order: Goldenrod.

She had been young, and still new after three years, but deeply talented and well-liked. There was not a single whole heart in the Turk department that night, but the Turks were not like army men. They were trained to hide everything they felt, and to eschew compassion and loss. No one got into the Turks who was not good at doing just that. It was a good thing for them, too, because Goldenrod was only the tip of the iceberg. In the weeks that followed, the list grew to three names, then ten, then twelve, and with each death those remaining looked less alive.

For Reno, it was a non-stop nightmare to watch his family be ripped out from under him and be powerless to stop it. He himself had already been close. The med wing was seeing much more of the Turks now that espionage and secrecy were no longer enough to meet the president's ever-increasing demands. Reno had nearly lost his arm bringing a mag rod to a gun fight and suffered severe blood loss before the medics got to him. The very next day he had been out on duty again.

In a way, he found the work welcome. It kept him distracted, and spared him the pain of having time to think, but as exhaustion worked its way under his skin and into his skull he found that a mantra of the dead began to repeat itself over and over behind his eyes. The first and last name was always Zack Fair, and even with all the new losses, that one never hurt any less. Tseng had allowed him to see the bodies of his fellow Turks, and bid them farewell, but Reno still waited for Zack Fair to charge in and steal an opponent from him in a daring act of chivalry that would leave Reno steaming and Rude laughing quietly to himself.

At the end of three weeks, Reno gave up trying to convince himself that Zack was gone for good. He sat back and allowed his exhausted mind to think that he was still out there, somewhere, because as the list grew to twenty names, the world suddenly seemed unbearable without Zack in it. Especially as Tseng got weaker.

Stress had finally taken its toll on the man, and stolen his health. The Wutaian was strong, and would recover quickly, but as all eyes turned to Reno for instruction he found himself suddenly unable to imagine himself in front.

Fortunately he didn't have to. Rufus Shinra stepped forward with a simple, short speech as they gathered underground to discuss Tseng, even as their leader rested upstairs.

"I know," he started, his voice softer than Tseng's, and struggling against a shake of fear, "that I am not one of you. However, this very fact has allowed me to observe how Tseng has been deploying you to maximize your advantages, and how best to persuade my father what missions to drop." Rufus all but spat out his relation to the president, distaste evident in his voice. He recovered quickly and took a deep, calming breath before speaking again. "I would be honored if you would allow me to fill Tseng's shoes briefly, while he recovers. I swear to you that I am not demanding this. I am only offering my help in the only way I can. Let me stay here and juggle paperwork while the rest of you retain focus on what you must do."

No one argued with the young man, and in fact it was the first time in weeks that any of the Turks smiled. Just like that, Rufus was an official honorary Turk, and decided that he would never let down the people who had raised him. As he faced the insurmountable task before him, Rufus sat down with one purpose in mind. He would have to find a way to complete his father's missions without sacrificing any of the people who had entrusted themselves to his hands.

Meanwhile, the SOLDIER program began a slow and steady decline as cadet after cadet left the program and the firsts and seconds continued to have breakdowns in the middle of their routines. The thirds did not yet have enough Mako in their systems to display the same extent of emotional instability their seniors exhibited, but they lacked the spirit the SOLDIERs were so prized for. Mako treatments were continued on schedule, but seemed to have less effect with no motivation for the people receiving the shots. Perhaps if the firsts had known the sacrifices being made in the shadows of Shinra, they would have rallied their remaining troops faster, but the president kept the death toll a strict secret, and no one held a secret like a Turk.

By the time Tseng recovered, it had become obvious that Rufus Shinra was not just another pretty face. He had carefully and precisely controlled the movements of the men to minimize damage and maximize results without ever forgetting their humanity. Tseng left him in charge of the organization, much to Rufus's pride and frustration. Tseng himself went back out on the field, and joined in the fray with Elena at his side. There still seemed to be something not quite right with the man, but no one expected even Tseng to hold it together completely under such circumstances.

Reno, however, had become certain that Tseng was hiding something from them, and determined to figure out what it was. He was impeded by the avalanches of work hurled upon him and Rude and the sleep deprivation he was beginning to feel so acutely. Eventually, he gave up trying, because even if he had the energy, Tseng would never tell him. After all, no one kept a secret like a Turk, even if said Turk wished for all the world he could blurt it out and send rescue screaming towards the single man who deserved saving more than anyone, and might have been able to save his rescuers in return. However, Tseng was not head Turk for nothing. He held Zack's location inside him like a cancer, felt it eating away at his insides, and knew how richly he deserved it.


	5. Paralyzed Force

**A/N: Haha! I forgot to put in an authors note. Umm... well, first, sorry this chapter's a little late. I wrote it three times. Three. Times. I'm still not happy with it, but I can't deal with the prospect of writing it again. I hope you guys enjoy this finalized version! Huge thanks to my leibchen for being such a supportive beta, even when I keep sending her notes saying "thanks for the beta, but I re-wrote the chapter. Would you mind...." Yeah. I'm a terrible person. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy the chapter! Drop me a line!**

**P.S. Yeah... I definitely introduced Elena last chapter... In cannon, she wouldn't show up for another three years or so. Buuut, since this is an AU already, she's STAYING. Hah. Decisiveness.**

**Still don't own FFVII! Bought ACC though. That was amazing. If you haven't seen it yet, go find it! Unbelievable.  
**

Chapter 5—Paralyzed Force

Zack gazed in shock at the naked, writhing figure on the floor. The scream had long since faded to convulsive, pained breaths. The pale man's long fingers clenched and spread uselessly as they twitched from his face to his chest, across the floor, tangling briefly in the silver blanket of hair beneath him, helpless in the face of his injury. A thin sheen of blood was spreading out across the floor, and Zack found its acidic sent eerily familiar. Angeal's blood had smelled almost exactly the same.

With a final fierce convulsion, the life seemed to go out of Sephiroth, and he went limp, slumping onto his back. The only sign of life was the breath rattling through his blood stained lips. Zack's hands lifted of their own accord, one covering his mouth and the other sliding through his mussed hair and anchoring itself there. Sephiroth's chest rose and fell in sudden, staccato rhythms. With each gasp, the cut stretching from his sternum to his navel gaped open. It was hard for Zack to tell from where he stood exactly how wide the wound was. It had stained Sephiroth's entire torso crimson.

Zack lowered the hand from his mouth, swallowing back sickness as he gazed upon his once friend. Normally blank, sharp features were drawn together in pain. His silver hair clung to sweat-drenched skin and fell around him in long, stained ropes. Pieces of it clung to the edges of the wound in his stomach like a mockery of stitching.

Rage rose up in Zack unbidden at the sight, and he was unsure as to who he was furious at. It was a strange mixture of pure murderous hate at the very sight of his betrayer and a protectiveness that rose up inside him seeing one so close to him injured. He had never really expected to see Sephiroth again, and now that he found himself face to face with him, he was reluctant to believe it. He scanned the body, studying familiar facial features twisted in an unfamiliar expression, the wide expanse of chest that always showed through a black leather jacket, slid downwards across the inexplicable slit across the general's torso and blinked, startled, at what he found beneath it. Cloud had not been exaggerating about the General's endowments, it seemed.

Zack was only beginning to comprehend that this was Sephiroth bleeding on the concrete floor before him when the gasping breaths permeating the room faltered and the angelic figure choked. He arched off the floor suddenly, in defiance against some unseen evil, and a thick trail of blood slid from between his pale lips and trailed down his jaw. Zack was fixated on that mouth as it opened and closed, red foam gathering at the corners of his mouth as he drowned in his own blood.

For a long moment, Zack considered doing nothing. He thought of Cloud lying still on a cold floor with blood staining his young face, and of a burning town, and thought that perhaps this was all Sephiroth deserved, to die gasping for breath on the hard, cold floor. But Angeal's voice was crying in the back of his mind, reminding him of honor and dreams that he had all but forgotten trapped in the solitude of the room. Zack had always been one to make decisions quickly, but the amount of time it took for him to turn from impassive to worried was unmeasurable.

He turned Sephiroth to his side, so that the man no longer had to fight gravity itself to rid the liquid from his lungs, and held him there with firm hands, dazed by how cold Sephiroth's skin was under his palms. The silver-haired general put up no resistance to the hold, but Zack found it difficult to support him. The blood soaking his torso made him very slippery, and Zack nearly dropped his burden more than once before the coughing subsided with a low, almost normal irritated groan. It startled Zack, and he leaned over to see if Sephiroth was conscious. He was greeted with closed eyes and breathed out a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure what he was going to do when the other man awoke yet.

As the general ceased struggling against his own lungs, Zack relinquished his hold to ghost his hands and gaze over the gruesome wound. It was deeper than he had originally thought, and though the edges were clean, the muscle beneath it had been shredded much less neatly. Zack nearly got sick when he glimpsed a piece of his general's liver beneath the massacred flesh. With no reluctance, Zack stripped his shirt off and ripped it along the seams, turning it into one long swath of fabric. It took a great deal of finagling to get it around Sephiroth's torso, but he managed it. He silently thanked Angeal's spirit for all the extra first-aid classes he had not wanted. Then he wondered who he was being silent for.

"Thanks Angeal." He sing-songed to the ceiling, feeling slightly giddy from the reek of Mako now permeating the small room. "I owe ya one man." A giggle caught in his throat, and didn't quite escape, but he managed a small smile. "Or maybe we could just call it even."

There was no response but the labored breathing of his patient. Zack sat back on his heels and studied Sephiroth, wondering not for the first time what had driven the man to commit the atrocities of Nibelheim. He sighed and crossed his legs underneath himself, settling in for a long wait until Sephiroth awoke. In the mean time, he pondered what he would say to the man. He did not enjoy spouting clichés, and he had already used 'what the hell did you do?' last time someone he loved had betrayed his trust. He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling in an old habit, then winced at the light and returned them to the floor, instead choosing to study the pool of blood at his feet.

He could pretend it didn't happen, and see if Sephiroth would offer the information himself, but he had never been good at being discrete. He was a SOLDIER, not a Turk. He had a feeling if he tried to hide it, he would just loose his temper completely and try to start another fight. Which was, of course, another option, and one that sounded more and more tempting. Just because he didn't want to watch Sephiroth die did not mean he didn't want to kill him. But lying there innocuous on the floor, more defenseless than Zack had ever seen him, Sephiroth's face called upon none of Zack's anger. It reminded him of the warrior's quiet, peaceful side that he had once held within him like a shameful secret.

Zack realized he was getting off topic, and was about to return to considering his script with a sharp intake of breath drew his gaze back to Sephiroth's face, and he was met by piercing silver-green eyes. Zack stopped breathing for a moment, as Sephiroth's dilated pupils fixed on him, slit pupils wider than Zack had ever seen them before. It was as he had feared. The general's eyes held that same, cruel look as they had in the reactor. Zack slowly shifted, not breaking his superior's gaze as he pulled his legs underneath himself, ready to try and defend himself against the impending attack.

Instead, Sephiroth let his eyes fall closed again as his stained lips curved into a wicked smile. A small chuckle broke through the silence like a gunshot as it forced its way from the pale, angular face, and Zack felt the blood drain of out his face. The chuckle wormed its way deeper into Sephiroth's throat, morphing into a hacking laugh. Though he remained limp on the floor, Zack suddenly felt more threatened by the man than he had while facing him down the length of Masamune. Sephiroth's eyes snapped open again as a fresh rush of blood poured from his grin, staining his teeth red. It did not seem to deprive him of the wild mirth possessing him.

"Zackary Fair." Sephiroth's baritone voice croaked, "Nicely done, Mother. A perfect copy of him." Silver eyes narrowed on Zack, pinning him in place. "Come to torment me? To scream to me how I have failed you? To inform me how worthless I am? Come now mother, I…" The monologue trailed off as Sephiroth's head gave a short jerk, eyes flashing silver in the light.

"Mother," he moaned longingly, "mother, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Make it better again. Take it away from me. I need you, mother." Zack felt a shiver run up his spine, and reacted before he could consider the action. He grabbed a fistful of Sephiroth's bangs in one fist and jerked his head up to lock gazes with him again.

"There are no mothers here." He snarled, quietly stunned by the ferocity in his own voice. Sephiroth's eyes, he realized in that moment, were the wrong color. There was too much of the silver shade to them, the green diminished to a spiking border around his pupils. Sephiroth bared his teeth at his friend, and Zack did not give him time to retaliate.

With a single movement, he yanked Sephiroth up by his tangled hair, flung him against the very door he had been thrown through, and pinned him there, forearm to throat, while keeping one hand tangled in his silver locks. Those mad eyes widened in surprise and he opened his mouth to speak, but Zack bore down hard, feeling that perfect throat bend and cave under his forearm, cutting Sephiroth's words into a strangled moan. Zack snarled, pulling the fistful of hair he held to tilt Sephiroth's face into the light. Sephiroth lifted his hands from his side, but froze before he could touch Zack.

As Zack held Sephiroth there, watching his lips take on a blue tinge and his eyes widen and narrow, brows drawn in confusion, he realized that he had nothing to say. He wanted to scream, but what could he scream? Which of a million injustices could he start with? Sephiroth stayed frozen under his hands, throat working under Zack's arm, but making no effort to escape. Zack could feel the weight of that assessing gaze on him, and see the way Sephiroth's fingers twitched with the desire to retaliate in some way, but nothing came, and Zack still didn't know what he could say to him.

Zack's anger receded as quickly as it had come and he dropped the hand from Sephiroth's throat, letting the taller man slide down the wall gasping for breath once more. He did not relinquish his grip of that shining hair, though, and he kneeled too close to his once friend, smelling the reek of blood and bile on Sephiroth's breath and disregarding it.

"You were right." He said tiredly, yanking slightly to make sure Sephiroth was paying attention. "What you said in that reactor? You were right. I didn't think you were, but you proved yourself right, as always. You're a monster, Sephiroth." He released the handful of hair he held and paced across the room, with his head bowed, expecting anything but the pure silence that greeted him. When he turned again, he saw Sephiroth, slumped against the wall looking dazed and broken as a rag doll and staring at him with wide eyes. It did not escape Zack's notice that those eyes looked closer to their usual green.

"You're… Zack?" the silver general queried cautiously. Zack just gazed at him flatly, rage still burning in his eyes. Sephiroth struggled briefly to stand, but slumped back to the ground, like a puppet whose strings have been cut. "You cannot be here." He stated calmly from his place on the floor. Zack felt rage rush over him again, and he kicked the wall behind himself so hard he bruised his bare foot. (They still had not given him any more shoes since the incident with the guard.) The wall gave a satisfying shudder. Sephiroth did not flinch, but his eyes widened ever so slightly, like they did when he was calculating something. The dazed look on his face did not lend itself well to the expression.

It took Zack long enough to process this statement that some of his newly awoken anger had to fade with confusion. He furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head just slightly, a grown up version of his old puppy maneuvers.

"Apparently I can be." He said carefully, keeping a careful eye on Sephiroth, "because I am." At this, Sephiroth seemed to loose the battle against something and bowed his head, body shuddering at the proclamation. He looked so wounded that Zack took a step forward to help him before he remembered that he was supposed to be angry with the other man. Sephiroth's next words sent a chill down the younger warrior's spine.

"Then Hojo has you in his grasp as well. I had hoped you would have escaped him, and taken my place in SOLDIER."

Any pissiness left in Zack fled him at the words. "Hojo?" he repeated, disbelieving, "As in, the Hojo who just threw you in here Hojo? He's the one running this place?" He looked around the room, and could see the weedy bastard smirking to himself as he designed the minuscule space.

Sephiroth did not reply, and Zack thought for a moment that he had passed out, but the he lifted his head slightly to gaze at him through intense green eyes, mako glow lighting them from within.

"Have they hurt you?" he demanded, voice stronger than it had been only a moment ago, and Zack felt a rush of relief at the question. This was the Sephiroth he knew, blunt and to the point, but caring beyond what anyone who did not know him would think was possible.

"Not as bad as they did you apparently." Zack sniped, relaxing his battle ready stance slightly and gesturing towards Sephiroth's middle. A sardonic smile slid across the pale face opposing him and the general raised a hand to touch the makeshift bandage, which was already stained a darker shade by the general's blood. The room fell into silence for a moment, then Sephiroth lowered his eyes again.

"I killed Cloud." He murmured, voice breaking slightly on his ex-lover's name. Zack couldn't find it in him to make any accusation at that, and so just stood there in the shadow of the confession, silent, and watching the man he had considered his best friend ooze blood onto a pure white floor. It seemed strange that this broken creature had once been feared by thousands and known as the Demon of Wutai. Nothing about him seemed demonic in the glaring white lights. Any skin color he might have had was washed out by the intense light, and he looked more like a shattered angel than a monster.

"You know," said Zack, when he could take silence no more, "you're really really weird." Sephiroth did not react to the statement except to move his head a little, indicating his attention. "You get thrown in here all bloody and... screaming, and stuff, then wake up all crazy, and as soon as I get done beating you up, you ask me if I'm hurt." He let out a little laugh, eyes deep and sad as he tried to choose between avenging one friend and forgiving another. He already knew what his choice would be. He would always help those he could reach, and Cloud was far beyond his reach now.

Sephiroth said nothing in explanation, but his gaze was sane and calm as he regarded Zack and one of his hands slid up slowly to brush his newly tangled bangs out of his eyes. Zack watched his movements carefully, licking his lips as he tried to recall ever seeing Sephiroth weak before.

"You did scream, you know, when they threw you in." he said, voice softer than it had been. "I've never heard you scream before." Sephiroth considered this information carefully for a long moment before drawing in a breath.

"I do not believe it has hurt before." he rasped, his face betraying no discomfort. "If it ever did, it has not for a long time. It does now." He appeared to decide that that information was enough and went back to silently watching Zack, expression still guarded, but hands twitching now and again in reaction to what Zack could only guess was pain.

Zack was silent for a long time after that, then he drew in a deep breath, and stated gravely, "I knocked a guard out with my boot." Sephiroth's eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted slightly in an unmistakable sign of confusion, then the corners of his lips quirked up at and he nodded slowly in approval.

"That is why you are barefoot." He stated with a tinge of amusement in his strained voice. Zack grinned hugely in pride and wiggled his toes.

"Yup." He replied. His smile dimmed when Sephiroth let out a rattling series of coughs, long legs pulling in to guard his wounded chest reflexively. Zack watched new blood slide from between Sephiroth's lips and hoped it was his body ridding itself of the last liquid from it's lungs and not a sign of more damage. The silver general slumped when the fit was done, and Zack sighed softly.

"Seph," he said softly, and he saw the man startle at the affectionate term of address, "you need rest." The silver general closed his eyes and let out a shaking sigh. Zack expected an argument or a comment, but instead he heard the other man's breathing even out and watched his chin drop with astonishment. Apparently he had needed rest more than Zack had thought for him to have passed out crumpled against the door. With a sigh, Zack sat down where he was across the room and settled in to watch the other man, hoping that the smell of blood and sweat would keep him awake at long enough to be sure that Sephiroth would not suffocate during the night.

As he sat in silence, running through the conversation in his head and attempting to decide what had changed Sephiroth from the ranting madman sprawled in his own blood into his friend. Unfortunately, the answer appeared to be violence. With a sigh, Zack decided that couldn't be it, because he had definitely tried that approach in Nibleheim to no effect. He could only assume that there was some other force at work, and hope that when Sephiroth awoke it would be the general and not the psychopath who ended up in his room.


	6. The Tumid River

**A/N: Hi again! Sorry I'm late! I hope you guys enjoy the chapter. I'm suffering from slight writers block! Bloody college, getting in the way of important things like fanfiction. Drop me a line! Let me know how I'm doing! Many thanks to Rakuengaki for being such an awesome beta. She puts up with me so wonderfully! If you haven't read The Good Doctor's plan yet, make sure to check it out! It's truly incredible.  
**

Chapter 6—The Tumid River

"Are you tired?" the woman's gentle voice asked, and Zack felt calming hands running through his hair. His eyes were closed, and he felt like he was floating in water. He turned into the contact, humming softly in agreement. Fingers brushed down his cheek in a soothing caress and he felt lips ghost over his forehead. "Sweet child. You're such a good boy. I know it's been hard for you. I'll protect you, though." Fingers tightened on his arms, dug into his skin, and Zack squirmed a little in discomfort, brows furrowing. He felt those lips on him again, touching to his temple this time, whispering comforts.

It felt so good to be touched, even roughly. It reminded him of his early days among the first class SOLDIERs, when he was not as strong, and their hugs were slightly painful, but always welcome. The presence holding him was so comforting and familiar he didn't even bother opening his eyes, just sighing and snuggling against feminine curves and breathing Aerith's name. The presence stiffened.

"Don't think of her." the voice hissed. "She's a traitor. She doesn't love you. She only wants you for what you are. Only wants you for your power. I will love you for all you are, my child, and heal your faults." Zack wanted to argue, and defend Aerith, but it was so relaxing, lying in her arms, motherly fingers sliding across his scalp in a massage he hadn't felt since Angeal's death. He hadn't realized how _lonely_ he'd been without contact till now. He wondered if, when he opened his eyes, he'd be alone in the white room again, or worse (better?) with Sephiroth. He clenched his eyes shut and lifted his arms to cling to the clammy skin of the one holding him.

The coldness of the flesh beneath his fingers was startling. Like touching a corpse. The lips descended on his forehead again and he felt something wet and sharp graze his skin. "Danger" a voice that sounded like Aerith's whispered, "She is danger." Zack lowered his hands from clammy shoulders, eyes still shut, and confusion working across his face.

"Who are you?" he asked softly, and he was startled to hear his voice come out hollow and toneless. The grip on him shifted slightly, bringing him closer to the cold, bare body of the other. The gentle voice didn't reply for a moment

"I am one who wants you free." she whispered to him, her voice almost musical in its sincerity. "Don't you want someone to help you? You were calling for someone before. Anyone, even, to help you. I am here now." Zack felt himself relaxing again, never wondering how she had heard his silent cries. She was a dream anyway, so she couldn't do any harm, and cold skin or not, she was touching him. He let her resume stroking her fingers through his hair, wondering why the help he had called for gave him such a feeling of foreboding.

Then the world around them shook, and arms tightened on him again before hands clamped over his ears, but they were not in time to block the sharp voices shattering Zack's sleepiness. As he slid out of the grasping hold and into wakefulness he heard a hideous shrieking hiss from the woman left behind in his mind, and realized quite suddenly that he hurt where she had touched him. Then the real world was pressing in on his consciousness.

His eyes slid open to in time to watch Sephiroth stand smoothly, pulling off Zack's extremely former shirt to reveal a long, pink scar across his torso. There were guards in the door, guns loaded and trained on the tall warrior's head. Zack licked his lips, prepared to see the guards loose their lives, but instead Sephiroth only started to walk out, calmly, allowing the guards to lead him away. Before he cleared the door, a voice interrupted his progression.

"Leaving the morning after?" Zack yawned, stretching slightly. "That's not very nice. You could at least have made breakfast." He was rather honored when one of the guards turned his gun against him. Sephiroth paused mid stride, cast a look back at Zack, and let out one decisive 'humph' of amusement before stepping out into the hallway and having the door slammed closed behind him. Zack sighed and put his face back in hands, wanting nothing more than to fall back into the disturbing, comforting dream. He knew he wouldn't though. The fluorescents were already hard at work calling up his perpetual headache.

With a sudden ferocity, he missed Sephiroth, and wondered if he would ever get to see him again. Then he wondered when he had lost the last of the anger that ought to have been directed at the man. He shut his eyes tightly and tried out of curiosity, to summon that rage. He found that he couldn't. He tried to recall the image of Nibelheim burning, and found only a muted memory. Then he reached for the vision of how Cloud had looked, splayed out on the ground like a Wutaian sacrifice. It was still there, and it still hurt to look at, but this time his mind also chose to remind him of how Sephiroth had looked opposing him, tattered and stained. Zack wondered for the first time what the black liquid around Sephiroth was. At the time he had assumed it was blood, because he had never seen Sephiroth bleed, and it would have made sence for his blood to be as different as everything else about him was. But last night he had gotten a nice personal look at Sephiroth's blood, and could certainly assure anyone who asked that it was red. He looked up in curiosity and found brownish black, rusting blood stains across his cell, right where he had expected them to be. Looked like his blood dried like everyone else's too. It had dried on his own hands and arms too.

Zack was starting to peel the dried blood off his skin when the door opened again to show the sour faced young man who led him to his treadmill each day and the two towering guards. Zack's scowl melted into a grin. He felt strangely energetic today, despite everything that had happened. The woman in his dream had apparently not been freaky enough to effect how much sleep he got.

"Hey guys!" Zack chirped before the scientist could give the same 'you will follow me' speech he always delivered. While they were off balance from the greeting (science jerk looked like he might be wondering whether he had really woken up that morning) Zack stood up and stretched, hearing all his bones pop happily at the motion. "Man, its good to see you. I thought you'd forgotten about me yesterday!" he put on an adorable pout. The guards glanced at each other in confusion as Zack sauntered out into the hallway, grin still on his face. He looked over at the floundering scientist and said.

"Hey, no worries, I know the drill. 'No talking' from here." he winked and then fell into relaxed silence, his hands on hips as he leaned back, waiting for the man to lead the way. On the inside, he was complementing himself on a job well done. He had the guy off balance, which meant he was open to believing Zack was a human. The cold bitch from before would have just ignored the outburst completely. This guy looked positively flustered, even as he cleared his throat and led the way down the hall. Grin still in place, Zack looked over his shoulder and thew a conspiratorial wink at the guard.

He ran for six hours, and smiled the whole time, contenting himself in movement, and enjoying the way that smile changed the atmosphere. The scientist taking notes was less tense, despite his obvious attempts to ignore everything but the whirrs and beeps of the machines he was monitoring. His muttering had slightly less bitterness to it too, and Zack found it easier to hear the quiet time measurements falling from his mouth.

When Zack's legs finally gave out and the guards pulled him up, he watched the scientist prepare the dark syringe, and noticed the momentary hesitation before the needle was shoved into his vein. The wave of pain that always followed crashed over him instantly. He could feel every drop of the stuff worming its way through his blood, contaminating his heart, his lungs, his mind. It crawled within him with a mind of it's own. He looked down at his hands (firmly restrained by the guards) and was unsurprised to find his veins an ugly black, protruding obscenely from his skin. He struggled then, dropping the pretense of the sweet farm boy he had played all day. He needed that stuff OUT of him. If bleeding it out was the only way, then he would bleed, if only they would let him go.

Then, as suddenly as the compulsion to remove that shit from his blood arose, it was gone again, and he hung limp in the arms of his captors. He let them drag him back to the cell, out of energy, but recovered enough to walk in himself rather than allowing the large men to throw him onto the concrete floor. He collapsed in a heap on the ugly, hard bed and curled in on himself, miserable and shaking. When he fell asleep, it was to loving hands and soothing words from a faceless, nameless woman.

As he floated in the nothing that recently populated his dreams, letting cold fingers run over him in comfort, he came to a realization.

"It's like the flu!" Zack crowed, sitting up out of the woman's embrace. Confusion suddenly became palpable in the air, and her hands stilled. Zack plowed straight through his metaphor. He was used to people being non-plussed by his theories.

"That shit they stick in me? Gotta be some kinda liquid flu. Feels just like when I got Gongaga sweating sickness when I was a kid. Except I think this stuff makes me hallucinate too. I mean, I've never had dreams about naked chicks who weren't Aerith before. No offense, dream lady."

From the screaming pain that suddenly assaulted every cell in Zack's body, he had to assume she had taken offense. He felt his body start to rip itself apart in that dreamland. Tendons pulled away from muscles, and joints buckled under the assault. His fingernails and toenails peeled away from his flesh. Just as his eyelids peeled back, a jarring noise woke him with a scream.

His eyes flew open only to be greeted by glaring whiteness, and Sephiroth, standing tall and stoic just inside the door. He was watching Zack through cat-like eyes, mouth drawn in a tight line. Zack took a deep, shaking breath and forced his lips to curve upwards, gaze drifting from Seph's eyes to his chest, where the freshly healed wound still stood out stark pink against that pale skin. The smile was shaky at best, and Sephiroth remained impassive, but the very effort made Zack feel slightly more normal. Besides, it was good to know that his lips had not been removed from his face.

"You're back." He said softly, wondering if he meant it as a good thing or not. From the empty look on Sephiroth's face, he wasn't sure either.

"Zack," the general said, voice smoother than it was the last time they spoke, "we need to talk." Despite the fact that Zack had not been in school or training for a good long while, he still felt like a child being called into the principal's office. He shrank a little and scooted back a little to place his back against the wall, fighting back the look of apprehension that threatened to crawl across his face. He didn't want Sephiroth seeing that weakness.

"I'm listening." He said, aiming his tone for disinterested and managing something along the lines of hapless. Sephiroth didn't appear to notice.

"You are being held as a subject by Hojo." Sephiroth intoned, as though he were giving a well rehearsed speech. "He is attempting to make you like me, but expects little of you. Unfortunately..." Sephiroth paused, looking distinctly uncomfortable, and Zack wondered if he was imagining the greenish tinge on his once superior's face. "Hojo has discovered that I have a weakness for you. He intends to use this to his advantage." Zack stared at him blankly, completely missing his meaning, and Sephiroth sighed very softly, glancing to the side.

It took him a long moment to continue. "Hojo offered me a deal today. He told me he had planned to... terminate you, but that if I cooperated with him, he would spare you. I agreed." The room fell silent following the proclamation, and Zack gazed at Sephiroth with wide, wounded eyes. He could think of nothing to say in response to that. If it was true, and he wasn't sure it was, then he was going to have to rethink his current attitude towards the tall man standing across the room from him. Sephiroth looked away, information delivered, and seated himself on the floor, still looking distinctly unwell.

"So..." Said Zack softly, brow furrowing in confusion, "you mean to tell me that after trying pretty damn hard to kill me not too long ago, you just saved my life by offering yourself on a platter to Dr. Creepy." The corners of Sephiroth's mouth twitched upwards briefly, but he didn't answer. For Sephiroth, that was a definite yes. Zack almost laughed at the absurdity of it, but it was too ridiculous even for his humor to catch up to it. He let the room fall into silence again, frowning at his toes and wiggling them as he thought, incapable of staying completely still (they still had all their nails intact, though they were looking a little rough after days of running barefoot. He was pretty sure they didn't smell too hot either. Not that he would have noticed. The room still reeked of Sephiroth's blood.)

"I miss Reno." said Zack suddenly. Sephiroth hmmed slightly either in agreement or disinterest. Zack really didn't care which. "He's an annoying bastard, but it was good to have someone I could trust." He looked over at Sephiroth again, but couldn't catch the man's eyes. Sephiroth was staring fixedly at a dark blood stain on the floor. "Betcha he's looking for me right now."

Sephiroth did lift his eyes after that, but it was with a grim look that sent chills down Zack's spine. "Zackary," he said softly, something like pity coloring his voice, "he is a Turk. He probably helped move us here." Zack's blood froze in his veins and he shook his head numbly.

"Not Reno." he insisted. "Not Reno or Cissnei. They wouldn't betray me."

Sephiroth stared a moment longer at him, then looked away. "If they would not," he said grimly, "then you should hope that they do not attempt to save you. It would cost them their lives."

And in that moment, despite not being alone anymore, and feeling surprisingly energetic for the first time in days, Zack felt despair steal over him. To be separated from his turk friends was one thing, but thinking of loosing someone else so permanently made him physically ill. He bit back his bile and calculated his distance from the toilet in case he lost control of his roiling stomach. Sephiroth's steady gaze bored into him, but the man made no move to comfort him, and Zack was glad. He didn't think his stomach would be able to handle contact from Sephiroth right now. He still had no idea how he felt about the other's company.

Long moments stretched by, as Sephiroth sat still and unmoving against the wall and Zack fidgeted restlessly atop his hard bed. He was sore all over, and kept having to check his fingernails to make sure they were intact. Sephiroth's words echoed through his head. He hadn't answered a single question buzzing through Zack's skull, and had instead introduced even more confusion. Zack finally couldn't contain his curiosity (or handle the silence) anymore.

"You said he wants to make me like you..." he started, fully expecting to be interrupted by Sephiroth's explanation, but the silver general remained silent, eyes burning into Zack with a worrying intensity. "What do you mean?"

"I believe he intends to infuse you with Jenova cells." Sephiroth answered quietly. "However, he has not mentioned his exact plans for you. Only that he planned to terminate you if his experiments were unsuccessful." Zack looked away from the suddenly emotional green eyes, bringing his knees to his chest. He was finding it more difficult to breath in the little room with the knowledge that he was absolutely nothing to the people holding him. He shuddered faintly, and tried to be angry at Sephiroth for speaking so plainly of his death, before something else occurred to him.

"You know, I think I only have one more question." Sephiroth inclined his head slightly to acknowledge the statement. "Why the hell would you?"

He had intended to be angry; to scream his question at the man who had apparently both ruined and saved his life. Instead the question came out like a plea, and he realized it was, really. He was all but begging Sephiroth to tell him that he was _worth_ something; that the scientists who treated him like empty air were wrong. He felt increasingly desperate as the seconds crawled by in silence. He thought for a moment that Sephiroth was going to dash his hopes and ignore his most important question. He started to stand, taken by the sudden desire to work off some of the sudden despair filling him. Just as his feet touched the floor, Sephiroth drew in a deep breath.

"There is no excuse for Nibelheim," he said in a fierce, soft voice, eyes burning behind the curtain of his hair, "and there is no escaping the fact that I killed many innocent people there." He looked away again, eyes returning to the blood stain on the floor beside him and fixing there, as though he were studying some secret pattern in the brown mess. "Including the man who meant the most in the world to both of us."

Zack jerked a little at the mention of Cloud. Sephiroth's voice sounded dead as he mentioned Cloud's fate, and he looked paler than he had before. Zack suddenly had the chilling impression that he was listening to a corpse speak. It had always chilled him that Sephiroth could speak without moving an inch, and now it only added to the impression that the man sitting across the room from him was nothing but a shell. Before his morbid musings could wind further, Sephiroth spoke again.

"However... it must be said that I was not myself at that time. There is no excuse for the atrocities I committed," His gaze lifted again, and Zack wondered at the fact that his eyes seemed to have gotten greener, "but I never intended to hurt you or Cloud. I wish I had been weak enough for you to kill me there." Zack shuddered at the words, an image of Angeal, lying broken and smiling on a hard wooden floor flashing through his mind. He opened his mouth to argue, but was forestalled by Sephiroth's insistent, somewhat urgent voice breaking in once more.

"I failed you there, Zackary, more thoroughly than I have failed anything in my life." Zack noticed a strange discoloration of Sephiroth's face, and frowned, taking a closer look at him. Any color that he had retained upon being locked in the cell had abandoned him, and his veins stood out starkly through his translucent skin, as though a spider had crawled under flesh to build it's gruesome web. "Now that I have the chance to protect you, I plan to make use of it." Zack said nothing, only sat and stared as Sephiroth slowly rose a hand to his mouth, eyes slanted slightly in an unreadable expression.

"Zackary," He said, a strained, choked quality to his voice, "I have no right to ask anything of you... but do not touch me during this," His long, pale neck tensed and he swallowed, tendons standing out, "please."

Zack had no time to answer the plea. Sephiroth clamped the hand over his mouth as he hunched over, sudden spasms ripping through every muscle in his body. He remained utterly still for a moment save for the compulsive shivers wracking his frame, then with a strangled retch a fountain of black bile erupted from behind his trembling fingers. Zack jerked in place as Sephiroth choked and gasped, his free hand slamming to the ground to support his weight. Silver hair spilled over his shoulders in strange waterfalls to pool and tangle in the thick sludge on the floor.

The smell hit Zack like a sledge hammer. As Sephiroth struggled and choked in a fight against his own body, Zack half-stood across the room, gripping the bed behind him hard enough to cut off the blood flow to his fingers. The stench was horrific. Even as Zack watched the silver general suffer, his mind attempted distractedly to find something to compare the stench to. He eventually decided on rotten bodies put through a wood chipper.

When Sephiroth finally lost the fight with gravity and consciousness, slumping boneless into the oily puddle beneath him, Zack remained frozen in place, unsure as to whether Sephiroth's restriction was lifted now that he appeared to have passed out. When he roiled over, supine on the floor, Zack gawked at how the black liquid clung lovingly to his skin, staining his flesh oil-slick black. It was sickening. Sephiroth's movement ceased except for the exaggerated rise and fall of his chest as he gasped in lungfuls of air, oxygen grating through his throat. No matter how he tried, Zack could not create a simile for that sound. It sounded like the death rattle he had heard building in Angeal's lungs before the end. It was undescribably horrific.

With the air reeking of rotten meat and the man who had just saved his life gasping for air like a fish about to be gutted, Zack weighed his options, swallowed down his own nausea, and walked over to Sephiroth, kneeling down in the muck to press his fingers to the other man's black-stained neck, feeling the pulse beating strong through his arteries. He drew his hand back, but remained where he was. He did not touch Sephiroth in comfort. He never had, except in the Nibelheim reactor. And besides that, even with new revelations, he was not such a forgiving person that he could forget Sephiroth's treachery. He shook his hand to rid it of the oily stain that had rubbed onto his fingers off of Sephiroth's neck, and found that he couldn't get it off. Wiping it on his pants only served to stain both his fingers and his pants.

Giving it up for a lost cause, Zack hooked his arms under Sephiroth's and dragged him out of the pool, taking careful note of the fact that where his arms touched the black they stained as well. The stuff was like napalm. Zack lowered his general to the floor again, decided that trying to clean him up was a lost cause, and settled down to watch over him. Even as his stomach roiled at the combination of the black gunk's smell, the feel of it curled possessively around his skin, and the lingering sent of mako tainted blood, Zack smiled faintly to himself. He was, at least, no longer bored.


	7. The Descent

**A/N: Ack! I'm so sorry for the delay everybody! I went to Anime Weekend Atlanta (my first con ever) and it was AMAZING but I got NO WORK DONE! Muahahaha! My evil knows no limits. Anyway, I hope this chapter makes up for it a little. More to come soon! Promise. Many thanks to Rakuengaki for beta-ing! She's super awesome!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own it. But saw a Zack cosplayer and apologized a lot!  
**

Chapter 7—The Descent

Zack wasn't sure how they had managed it, but when he woke up, he was definitely not in his ugly white room. He tried to sit up and get his bearings, but found that he couldn't lift his arms or legs. He fought back the stirrings of panic that urged him to jerk against the bonds, unwilling to injure himself if it was unnecessary. Hesitantly he blinked his eyes open, knowing by the color inside his eyelids that he would be blinded by a too-bright light.

The light was a movable lamp, and it was certainly blinding, but as soon as he blinked his eyes open to greet it, an unwelcome face loomed over him. Despite the fact that his mouth and nose were covered with a surgical mask, the narrow shit-brown eyes behind thick glasses were pure Hojo. Zack wondered if he could work up enough saliva in his dry mouth to spit on the bastard.

"Very interesting," Hojo sneered, squinting at Zack with far too little respect for any personal space. Zack drew back as far as he could against the metal thing he was strapped to and wrinkled his nose in distaste. As abruptly as he had appeared, Hojo moved away and Zack tried to watch him, and found that his head was restrained on either side with half-masks that appeared to be adjustable. He had just enough leeway in them that they had not been touching him till he turned. He could only see the edge of Hojo's white coat from his uncomfortable position, but he could hear him easily.

"Subject ZII shows resilience to sedative. Regained consciousness after seven point six minutes. Testing will commence." A chill worked its way up Zack's spine, urging him to jerk against his bonds once more. They didn't budge. Hojo loomed over him again, and with a mechanical whirr, the head restraints tightened until they dug into his skin, and the straps on his arms and legs pulled down until his limbs were pressed tightly to the frigid surface beneath them. Zack twisted in the hold and tried to speak, but found his voice silenced, and just ended up breathing out heavily, mouth gaping open and brows furrowing in confusion. Hojo gave a little smarmy chuckle and ran a finger down Zack's non-functioning throat.

"They'll grow back," he sneered in mock-comfort, "if you survive." Zack could only watch in silence as Hojo lifted a long, thick hypodermic needle from the side of the table and lifted it up to the light so that Zack could see the full length of it as it was filled with a dark, swirling substance. Zack twisted in a final display of resistance, snarling against the resistance of his bonds before Hojo sank the needle into is abdomen and his world was lost in agony.

Hojo had six of the hypodermics, and one after another he filled Zack with their contents before walking away, leaving the young man to writhe in his bonds, face twisted in a silent scream and trails of blood seeping from the punctures in his skin. His eyes burned with tears and silent sobs caught in his throat, choking him with absolute misery. The thing inside him curled in his center like a creature burrowing into a den, everywhere it touched inside him burned as surely as if Hojo had placed live coals inside him rather than that tar-like substance. Zack could smell nothing but the iron of his own blood and a rotten smell that reminded him of Sephiroth's sickness. He felt swollen and twisted inside.

Bile rose in his throat and he had the presence of mind to swallow it down, the clamps holding his head down making it impossible to manage throwing up to the side. The taste of the stuff in his mouth was mind numbing. He had no words for it, and had the feeling that he never would. It tasted like corruption and death with a hint of raw sewage. And more than the pain coursing through his veins and curling in his chest it made him wish he were dead.

The worst part, in his mind, was the fact that it was unrelenting. It was such a constant agony that it was almost boring, and he found himself waiting for anything to break the monotony of that screaming pain. After what might have been moments or days, he felt cold effeminate hands running over his stomach, fingers catching lightly on toned abs. It was such a welcome distraction that Zack didn't mind the corpse-like chill of the fingers running over his flesh or the goose bumps that rose across his body.

"Poor boy," the dream woman whispered, sympathy dripping from her voice. "Does it hurt you? Give in to it. It will stop hurting if only you'll give in. It will stop hurting you, give you power you cannot imagine now, if only you will let it." The fingers trailed across his skin, stroking down to his hips then back up his sides, chilling him to the bone. The liquid implanted in his stomach felt like it was boiling beneath her hands. Zack twisted fruitlessly against the bonds holding him in place as the cold hands pressed over his chest, smoothing themselves over his heartbeat. He had the distinct feeling that he was delirious, and could not bring himself to care. He just wanted _out_. Just wanted to get away from this.

His breath abandoned him as he stretched his mouth in an empty scream, voice refusing to cooperate. He saw nothing but blinding white, and did not know if it was the light above him or the pain within that stole his sight. He could not see the woman who stroked loving fingers through his hair and across his brow, skin so cold it added to the burn of his flesh rather than soothing it. He suddenly felt an overwhelming rush of fear from her touch, because what had been soothing fingers became questing tendrils, and he had the sudden feeling that she was looming above him, mouth wide to consume him entirely. He struggled against the fingers, shutting his eyes against the light and her presence, rejecting her with all he had left to himself. He thought he heard a quiet hiss, and the pain intensified for a moment before fading slightly for the first time since the injection, leaving him limp and gasping in his bonds. Once it started to fade, the pain retreated quickly, and Zack recovered the ability to breath. He was freezing cold, and couldn't stop the convulsive shivers that ran through him or the chatter of his teeth, but he welcomed the numbness in his limbs in comparison to the horrific agony of moments before.

Hojo entered his view again, and though Zack's vision was blurred and marred with brightly colored spots left over from the light, he could tell that the man was wearing a deep frown. Zack forced himself to level a triumphant gaze at the hated scientist, reveling in the man's displeasure and taking it as a sign that he had done something right. The madman turned away, shoving another needle into Zack's arm with little finesse, this time to draw blood. Zack didn't even flinch. He only continued to smile at the man as the world blurred around him. He really was too cold, but all he could feel was relief that it was over as darkness rose to claim him. This time, he did not dream.

When he came to himself again, he immediately had to turn to his side and let out a ragged, wheezing cough, almost falling off his horrible metal cot in the process. Even as tears stung his eyes from the severity of the coughing fit, he felt a rush of affection for the bed, simply because he was not buckled down to it. His throat tickled fiercely with the tingle of Mako and as soon as the coughing fit ended he cleared his throat, startled by the odd squeaking sound that emanated from his mouth.

"He cut your vocal chords," a dry voice said from across the room. Zack lifted his gaze to see a blurred mass of silver and white across the room and assumed it must be Sephiroth. "They're regrowing now. Give them a moment before you try to speak."

"Wh..." Zack started, only to be cut off as his voice cracked and he gave into another fit of ragged chokes. An exasperated sigh emanated from Sephiroth's direction. Zack swallowed, disturbed by the dryness of his throat, and pushed himself up to sit on the bed, scowling at his trembling arms and the lingering ache in his stomach. He looked down in disgust at the small puckered scars on his torso where the needles had pierced his skin and the trails of dried blood etched across his skin. He stuck his tongue out at them and scraped away the blood with dirty fingernails and a frustrated scowl. Sephiroth sat silently in his corner, and Zack couldn't see his eyes though his damaged vision, but he imagined that searching gaze was fixated on him. A sudden chill ran through him and the shiver it brought along almost sent him sprawling back on the bed.

"Did you meet mother?" Sephiroth asked, and there was a tremulous quality to his voice that put Zack instantly ill at ease. His fingers stilled in their work, and he looked up in the direction of his coincidental room mate. Sephiroth did not appear to have moved, and Zack fervently wished that he could see the other man's face and gauge his expression. He opened his mouth to respond, but only managed to make a soft squeak of a sound before his raw voice protested and cracked under the strain, leaving him coughing once more and still voiceless.

"I told you not to talk." Sephiroth snapped, anger in his tone. "You must listen when I tell you to do things, Zackary. That's why I had to hurt you at Nibelheim. You weren't listening." Zack stiffened and shivered again, eyes widening out of the squint he had adopted for the bright room to grow wide and round. He had the chilling feeling that Sephiroth's eyes would be wrong if he could see them, and that this was the monster from the reactor rather than his friend. A low, animal growl filled the room, and it took Zack a moment to realize that it was Sephiroth making the noise.

"You did meet mother," he hissed accusingly, "I can smell her on you." Zack watched the silver figure stand slowly with growing horror. His body was trembling from the effort of sitting up, and he was very aware of the fact that if he tried to stand he would fall. Sephiroth advanced slowly. "You can't have her," he snarled. "I won't let you have mother. She's mine. She loves me best."

Zack shrunk back against the wall, opening and closing his mouth soundlessly in protest, shaking his head slowly. Sephiroth stopped only once he was inches from Zack and leaned down until they were face to face, noses scant inches apart. From here, Zack could see the lack of green in his eyes and the minuscule slit pupils dividing the shining orbs. They widened and shrunk again, as though focusing on some detail of Zack's face. The younger man swallowed again, feeling a sickening fear in his stomach.

"If she ever loves you more than me," Sephiroth hissed, his breath hot against Zack's face and still smelling of bile. Zack refused to flinch, holding Sephiroth's crazed gaze. "I'll kill you myself, Zackary. Slowly. Do you understand?" Zack nodded carefully, not wanting to antagonize the other man while he was incapacitated. Sephiroth instantly backed down, turning away and stalking back to his corner where he slumped to the floor again, hair following a beat behind and falling in tangles across his shoulders. Silence fell over the room, and Zack lay back down, suddenly more shaken than he had been in Hojo's tender care, and closed his eyes, waiting for the tickle of Mako to leave his throat.

When the burn of overuse started to leave Zack's eyes and the stinging healing in his throat had tapered off into occasional pricks, Sephiroth spoke again.

"You should have killed me," he said softly, "in the reactor, or when you first saw me here." Zack slanted his eyes open again, glancing to the other side of the room. Sephiroth's eyes were closed, but his posture was hunched and defeated. Zack closed his eyes again, briefly lost in the sudden vast fluctuations of Sephiroth's personality. Then he drew in a long breath and decided to test out his voice.

"I'm glad I didn't," he rasped. His voice quivered weakly, but held up this time. He levered himself up onto his elbows to look at Sephiroth from a less disorienting angle, vision coming in and out of focus, but noting that his eyes were back to being silver and his skin was once more stained with recent blood, though he did not appear to be near death like the last time.

"Why?" asked Sephiroth, sounding genuinely curious. Zack thought about it for a long time, trying to decide the answer himself. Why was he glad to have Sephiroth there? It wasn't that he was a particularly comforting presence, switching from dark and brooding to homicidal with no warning, and he had never been particularly stimulating company, even before Nibelheim. And yet, he was glad to have him there.

"I guess..." His voice faltered and Zack took a moment to swallow impatiently, his mouth rapidly growing dry. If he wasn't mistaken it would be a few hours yet before the men returned with the meager rations and water he was allotted. "Because I've already lost too many friends."

It was not exactly what he meant, and he knew without a doubt that Sephiroth would take that to mean that Zack would have preferred another's presence (which was true, but still hurt) but it was the closest Zack could get to putting his need for Sephiroth's presence into words. The loneliness of the room before it was shared with someone had been too horrible for Zack to be picky about what companion joined him. Sephiroth didn't seem perturbed by the answer. He only held that even gaze on Zack's face, as though searching for something he knew should be there. Zack left his guard down, and didn't hide behind a smile. He knew that at this point even the socially inept Sephiroth would have noticed that it was false. Sephiroth shook his head very slowly and deliberately before sighing in a long low rush of air.

"I doubt I will ever comprehend you, Zackary," he murmured, and Zack briefly missed the smooth, self-assured baritone of the Sephiroth he had known outside these walls, though he appreciated the shimmer of truth that accompanied his harsh voice. It made him feel more secure to hear his friend sounding weak. It was wrong on too many levels for Zack to count, and yet he refused to let it bother him. He would take any comfort he could get in this hell-hole. He allowed himself a brief smile at Sephiroth's comment before sliding back down to recline once more, letting out a long breath. Silence fell again.

"So... how come you're naked and I get pants?" Zack queried tiredly, perking up slightly at the improvement in his voice. A brief bark of laughter from the corner rewarded his question, but to his surprise, Sephiroth answered the question rather than ignoring it as a joke.

"It is to shame me," he said, and though his voice was inflection-less, Zack imagined he could see the eyeroll. "To make me feel weak." Zack glanced over, taking in the way Sephiroth was sitting relaxed and shameless against the wall and postulated that it wasn't working. He had to smirk at that before closing his eyes and tilting his head back, absorbing the relative warmth of the room around him eagerly after the bone-chilling cold of the exam table.

"They don't know you very well, huh, Seph?" He murmured, remembering Sephiroth's grim warning and wondering if anyone really knew him. Sephiroth stopped breathing for a moment, and Zack opened his eyes to look at him. He was sitting stock still in the corner, brows furrowed and lips turned downwards.

"No." he said softly, eyes attaining a distant quality. "They do not." For one terrifying moment, Zack wondered whether Sephiroth was answering his statement or his thought. He turned his attention away from Sephiroth, to the white walls and ugly floor which had been cleaned but still bore the stains of Sephiroth's injuries and sickness. It still stunk to high heaven too, but after having the smell rising from his own flesh, Zack didn't mind the ambient reek of bodies so much. Sephiroth's nose didn't even wrinkle at the scent.

"So," Zack chanced, "last night..."

"Leave it." Sephiroth advised. "It is none of your concern, so long as you do not touch me." Zack shivered at the words and watched Sephiroth close his eyes and turn away slightly, indicating that he was finished with conversation for the moment. Despite his exhaustion, when Zack lay back down, he could not attain sleep. He only ran through in his mind over and over Sephiroth's threat, the smell of the black liquid, and the feel of corpse hands on his skin.


	8. Violent Souls

**A/N: Well... I'm late again! Sorry! Many thanks to all of you wonderful reviewers! You give me so much inspiration. You all get cookies!**

**I wanted to warn you, darling readers, to to multiple requests, that because this is the prequel to another fic, Cloud will be appearing very rarely if at all. The sequel to this, which is The Good Doctor's Plan by Rakuengaki follows Cloud and Genesis, who have undergone their own horrors in this period of time. It's a fantastic read, and very Cloud-centric. Go get your fix from her! (Then come back to me please... *sniffle*) It's an awesome fic, and was actually started before this one. We're working together closely on them, so they're really more companion pieces than prequel and sequel. Mine just happens to happen before hers.**

**Also, warning for this chapter: Turks are not nice people. Thank you. Hope you all enjoy!**

**I still don't own Final Fantasy VII.  
**

Chapter 8—Violent Souls

Shinra had always considered the wastes surrounding Midgar a temporary problem. While the mechanics and construction workers worked daily on the problem of grounding more buildings in the less stable, rock-slide prone mesas presented an engineering challenge. Meanwhile, it served as the perfect impromptu storage facility for smugglers from the slums trying to sell weaponry and raw mako harvested by the starving kids of the slums from the reactors themselves for small snacks or low fees.

The SOLDIERs ran monthly raids out in different parts of the wastes as training exercises, because the mako wouldn't poison them as easily, and the weapons stood no chance against even the training swords. Things were not nearly as simple for the Turks.

Reno was a child of the streets. In fact, he had once been one of those hungry children harvesting mako for scraps. He had chosen a wild life with the Turks, and prided himself on being both flashy and streetwise. However, he had not signed up to choke on red dust while rocks dug into his ass, back, and face. The bandanna around his nose was not of much use, except to make sure that if he were to sneeze it would go straight back in his face. Reno bit back a groan and shifted slightly, wincing at the small dust-slide his movement created. Below him, there were at least seven Turks situated around the ravine, waiting for the smugglers to make their appearance.

"Easy, red." Rude's voice crackled in his ear. Reno would have replied, but he was too busy gritting his teeth against the murderous rage building in him towards the president who was sending them on these damned suicide missions. His mouth was full of gritty dust and he lifted the red cloth up to spit. It didn't help, and only served to make his tongue stick more fiercely to the roof of his mouth. He was seriously regretting teasing Rude for the three bottles of water he had taken with him to his hiding place.

The smugglers were beginning to arrive, slowly, in twos and threes, standing around silently, pulling flasks from their belts to drink from and avoiding eye contact with one another. Reno pulled a gun from his jacket (which was _swelteringly_ hot, but utterly necessary to his style) and waited, training his gun on one face after another, mouthing bang for each of them and imagining how the spray of their blood would look against the deeply despised red rocks.

The air thrummed with anticipation. The redhead could all but feel the other Turks disguised in the rocks around them picking their victims. They all had their favorites. Rude would take out the larger men, Thorn the creepers, Cissnei went after the ringleaders, Leo and Cirque would handle the sycophants in the group, Machete would snag the older don-like figures, and Reno took the women, starting with the blondes.

The familiar ritual of marking his targets was empty under the ugly sky outside Midgar. Reno's life was in the city, and he couldn't bring himself to be excited out under the bizarre sky. Even in the shade he could feel his skin burning in the indirect sunlight. He couldn't wait till Lazard got back from Wutai.

He was still amazed that Rufus had managed to talk the board into re-instating the director. He'd said something about convincing the president that killing off Turks was a drain on company funding. Then he'd locked himself in the bathroom to throw up for an hour. The push for the return of the exiled Lazard came after it was noted that one Commander Garrick Arlen had taken over the training of the lower SOLDIERs and hauled the other firsts out of seclusion.

The buyers showed up in an ugly, expensive car whose doors opened upwards and outwards, making it impossible for anyone to park near them. The boss stepped out with a cane in one hand and a blonde on the other, her lipstick smeared from the car ride. Reno took aim, and waited for the sign, his first target chosen. There were twenty people at the trade. Three targets for each Turk. Except for Thorn, who would be moving out to check for the big-baddie's backup after taking down two of the beasts. They'd planned this mission on the fly, but they'd planned it thoroughly.

Reno licked his chapped lips and tasted blood. It was a rather comforting taste, and briefly overwhelmed the dull taste of dirt and sand pervading his senses. His eyes were so full of the grit they were actually teary, which pissed him off to no end. It made him feel chillingly weak to be lying all alone tearing up.

"Hold positions," Rude muttered though the com. Reno flexed his cramping muscles and held his aim on the blonde, his target chosen. When a white bird shattered the silence with a cascade of flapping wings from near the encampment, causing every person gathered to jump, Reno took his shot.

The woman's blood sprayed in elegant arcs, her hair tumbling around her as she fell, gold and red dancing in a twisted pas-de-deux. In simultaneous glory, six others among the group fell in heaps upon the ground, staining the dust beneath them brighter shades of red. When Reno shot down his next target, it was with a wide, vengeful smile.

It went smoothly. They panicked predictably and were brought to the ground, not a survivor among them (though the wiry brunette woman took Reno three shots. He was no sniper.) The turks removed themselves from their crevices and walked downwards on the uneven terrain, each one glancing around the others in a silent headcount. All but Thorn were accounted for, and he should be rejoining them soon after checking the few entrances to the hemmed in area.

As Reno was congratulating himself not missing any of his targets entirely, his footing gave out, sending him tumbling down the remaining ten feet of the steep slope before hitting the dusty, but unfairly hard, ground. A chorus of quiet chuckles greeted his descent and Reno stood with a scowl, brushing himself off. He'd landed in a pool of murky blood-spatter that only served to make the dust stick to him even more throughly, clinging to his skin rather than just resting on him briefly before blowing off to be replaced by fresh dust.

"Fucking shit..." he muttered to himself, ripping the bandanna off his face to wipe at the blood, serving only to smear it across his arm and make his handkerchief unusable. He flicked it fiercely and scowled at the puff of dust that escaped it, then stuffed the fabric into his pocket. At least in the enclosed space the wind was all but non-existent. Rude appeared beside him, silent as usual, and wordlessly handed him a half emptied bottle of water.

"Oh shut up." Reno griped at him, taking the bottle only out of necessity. He swallowed the rest of the contents, knowing his partner wouldn't have handed it over at all if he hadn't been done. He could feel Rude's disapproval when he dropped the plastic thing to the ground, and chose to ignore it. At least with some fluid in him he felt more human. He headed towards the center of the meeting area, stepping over the body whose blood he had landed in and "accidentally" kicking it lightly in retribution for the mess.

"You look like hell." Cissnei called to him across the hole, waiving obnoxiously, and looking almost as perfect as usual, the only difference a slight russet tint to her pale skin.

"Screw you too, Ciss!" Reno yelled back, shoving his hands in his pockets fiercely. He would actually have to clean his suit after this, and there was nothing he hated more than standing around at Shinra Dry Cleaners and twiddling his thumbs, surrounded by poleticians. He wondered how Tseng did it, and decided his suit was probably too scared of him to risk getting dirty. Plus, _Tseng_ could turn missions like this one _down_, the bastard. Leo had raced Cirque to the center, and the partners were reuniting with a bump of fists before turning to the cases, both looking satisfied and amused, taking pleasure in a mission gone flawlessly.

Thorn sauntered back into the ring, one hand bandaged lightly, but uninjured otherwise. He joined up with them right about the same time Reno stopped tripping over invisible rocks and reached the center, Rude snickering silently beside him.

"Any trouble?" Machete purred, his voice smooth as silk despite the rough quality of the air. Thorn waved his hand through the air briefly.

"One little troublemaker of a monster got a bite in, but the bodyguards didn't stand a chance. Looks like things went well here." Smirks and nods were exchanged, but for Reno who stood half-turned from the group glowering. the sniggers of amusement in reaction to his brooding increased. Cirque even had the nerve to pat him on the head and coo sympathetically. Reno nearly decked her, but the wild-haired little woman slipped away from the strike, laughing.

They checked the cargo from a distance, radioed in their success and waited for the transport units to arrive and take them back to base with the load. They ooh-ed and ahh-ed over each other's kills, praising the non-gun-savvy Reno for bringing down all his targets with minimal mess and teasing Thorn for letting a little monster get the drop on him. By the time the transports arrived, they had plans to make a night of it and visit one of the bars nearest Shinra, to take the edge off.

On the ride back to Shinra, Thorn started feeling sick, and ended up having the truck pull over to let him get out and puke. His hand didn't stop bleeding.

By the time they reached Shinra, he was rushed to the infirmary. That evening, he was missing a hand, and 'lucky' not to be sans an entire arm according to the medical staff. Everyone was relieved that he would live, but in terms of practicality, it meant the Turks were down one more operative. They still gathered for drinks, and Marshall led a toast to their downed comrade that even Tseng joined from the corner, gently inclining his head and glass before delicately sipping the fine liquor he indulged in so rarely.

No one indulged in more than one drink, splitting up to sleep or plan for the next day's work. Reno split off from the group, heading higher in the building. He was not particularly fond of the SOLDIER floors, but they held memories of a different time, when he would have emerged on those floors and faced the threat of a Zack Attack around every corner. When he exited on the first's floor, there was absolute silence. The halls were utterly empty, which lent the area an eerie, dead feeling. Reno let his feet lead him along the hall, eyes lowered and slightly hunched over, as though he carried a huge weight on his shoulders.

He reached Zack's door and stared at it, fighting the warm, choking feeling in his throat and the warping moan of restrained tears in his ears. The floor around the door was littered with flowers, and images of Zack covered the wall. Zack with his friends, Zack and Angeal, Zack training... In all of them, he smiled out at Reno with genuine joy. In the center of the flowers, beneath the images, was a toy puppy.

The redhead kneeled slowly, overwhelmed by the weight of the images, and put his head in his hands, biting his lip hard to fight back misery. Turks didn't cry, after all, except around their brothers and sisters, but the immensity of Zack's loss plagued Reno. It was nearly three months since the announcement, and despite the time that had passed, the only changes made to the door were fresh flowers whenever they started aging and new pictures whenever one was unearthed. Reno didn't stop by the door often, but he'd felt the need tonight, to remember that he was not the only one who still missed the idiot.

"Hey, you alright?" said a deep voice. Reno jumped and pulled his gun, training it on the man who he now shared the hallway with. He hadn't even heard him coming. The man's face was hidden by a strange helmet, but he smiled and raised his hands.

"It's cool, Turk-man. Any friend of Zack's is a friend of mine." Reno sighed and holstered his gun.

"Sorry. My bad, yo." he muttered, voice a little choked from restrained tears. The other man's smile widened and he lifted the helmet to reveal kind, sad eyes.

"'Yo,' huh? You must be Reno then." The turk blinked and nodded assent, and was startled by the chuckle the other man let out at the affirmation. "Man oh man, Zack loved harping about you." When Reno continued the blank stare, the soldier extended a hand, offering to help him stand. "I'm Kunsel. I think maybe we should talk."

Reno scowled at him, but he recognized the name. Zack had often talked about his 'best friend in the world ever.' He was pleased to see the man had made it out of suicide watch. Zack would have been pleased with that. "What about, yo? Your dumb-ass helmet thing?"

Kunsel laughed openly, and Reno couldn't help but compare it to Zack's carefree guffaws. Kunsel was a little less gleeful than Zack had been, but he had a similar spark of life in him. It made Reno feel that much more alive to see someone laughing, even a little.

"I was thinking more along the lines of stupid Zack stories." he said, looking over at the door affectionately and adding a flower to the pile at the doorstep, adjusting it carefully, despite the fact that there was no pattern to them. "You look like you're in the mood."

Kunsel's eyes were warm and lonely, and Reno suddenly needed someone to talk to who he wouldn't hurt by being weak. As a Turk, he knew, he ought to never trust anyone, but he was tired, and Kunsel felt like a comrade already, he'd been spoken of so much by Zack. With a weary nod, he accepted the offer, and Kunsel smiled at him and jerked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate which way they ought to go. Reno followed, feeling a little lighter.

While they shared in catharsis, Tseng was slipping through the darkened streets of the slums, eyes sharp and destination impending. He paused briefly outside the accusing stone cathedral, then slunk inside step heavy and tired. There was humming coming from within. Tseng knocked twice before opening the door, alerting the young woman within to his presence.

"Tseng," greeted the warm voice of Aerith Gainsborough from her otherworldly field of flowers, bursting from the floorboards as though they were being pushed upwards by an invisible hand.

"Mrs. Gainsborough," he said softly, his voice always unintentionally more vulnerable around her, "are you ready to listen yet?"

"Zack isn't dead." She said, her voice and eyes kind and sympathetic. "And he will come back. But when he does, I have the feeling he'll see you before me." She held up a new set of letters, this time sealed with a red ribbon around the outside, "So you have to be sure to pass these along, okay?" Tseng looked at the bundle in her hand. Seven letters. One for each day.

"I wish I could convince you otherwise, Aerith," he said softly, and she smiled at him benignly, tilting her head to the side.

"No you don't," she stated, voice devoid of any accusation, "You're happy someone else knows. Now take the letters, Tseng, and go get some rest."

Tseng took the envelopes from her delicate hand, and allowed her to touch the back of his fingers briefly, whether in comfort or request he wasn't sure. "He is dead, Aerith. You cannot wait your whole life for a man who cannot return." He smile grew sad and more serious, eyes wounded despite her confidence.

"If that was what it took, I would," she said softly, "but that won't happen, because he isn't alone, wherever he is. If he was alone, I would be worried." She smiled again at Tseng, confidence returning. "so just be patient. It will work out Tseng." He drew back, but halted when her hand alighted on his forehead, eyes closing. Her voice was quieter, and secretive when she spoke through the contact.

"I know you can't do much." She whispered, voice trembling slightly, "but please try, Tseng. Keep his hope alive, if you can." Tseng said nothing, and moved not an inch, but Aerith nodded as though he had agreed. "And give my best to Reno," she said, as though she had not just been instructing the leader of Turks to look after her dead boyfriend. "I miss having him around to get in my way."

Tseng left without another word, letters carefully tucked in his pocket, and mind whirring, wondering how much Aerith knew, and how she could possibly know it. Through all his confusion, though, burned a strange feeling of relief. She knew, and rather than condemning him, she had simply asked for his help. Tseng was already deciding what course of action to take to ensure he could reach Zack, in one way or another.


	9. Death's Dream Kingdom

**A/N: Again, thank you everyone for your continued support! This chapter marks the longest piece of writing I have ever done. I am glad you are all still enjoying it! (Well, for a given definition of enjoying...) I hope you guys stick with me! I'm still in unfamiliar waters here, so feel free to drop in any criticisms you may have, or any concerns over the direction this is going! (oh, and I love guessing games, so feel free to conjecture away!) Also, remember to check out The Good Doctor's Plan if you haven't! Rakuengaki has teh writer's block and needs your love!  
**

**Sorry this one is kinda short... It's just compact, that's all! Anyways, my apologies to Zack, as always. Enjoy the chapter! (and I don't own FFVII. Geeze this every chapter rule is repetitive.)  
**

Chapter 9—Death's Dream Kingdom

The smell of what Sephiroth referred to as 'geostigma' became a constant in Zack's life. It constantly clung to the other man, like a second skin, as though his flesh itself would turn sticky and black before sliding off his bones. It was rare for a night to go by without Sephiroth falling into convulsions and vomiting the twisted black substance. He was never conscious afterwards, and Zack could never help but ignore his instructions and go to him after every incident. When he would wake up the next morning, someone would have already cleaned the stuff from his own skin, and Sephiroth would be gone.

His life in the lab had quickly fallen into a rhythm. He was taken out of the cell shortly after he woke up, and subjected to strenuous, exhausting testing until his body gave out under the work (which took longer each day), and then injected with that same black stuff that reminded him so strongly of his friend's vomit. It was not a comforting comparison. Then he would convulse, because he couldn't stop the initial crush of pain, and regain himself as quickly as possible. Some days his recovery was almost instantaneous, and others it took him until long after the guards had thrown him into his cell to rise from the pain-induced haze; but he always rose out of it, and it seemed to bring continuous amazement to the young man overseeing his experiments.

The woman was a constant too. Her slick fingers like ice against his skin, even in dreams, and her words low and soothing unless Zack listened too closely and heard the animal growl beneath them. Over time, he had become adept at tuning that growl out. She continued to offer him power, and freedom, and though he wanted nothing more, something held him back. He would joke to himself silently that it was only him not wanting to cheat on Aerith, and he was always startled to find that there seemed to be some truth in that. Still, he never pulled away from the woman, even in those terrifying dream moments when he was suddenly certain, despite the obviously human form holding him, that her mouth was right above him, salivating, waiting to swallow him whole, like a snake unhinging its jaw.

The only thing that changed in the sickening, bright world of Hojo's lair was Sephiroth himself. Zack knew his commanding officer had never been the poster boy for stability, but the silver general's level of sanity was in a constant flux. Sometimes Zack would return to a man so like his quiet, reclusive friend from Shinra he could imagine that all of this was some strange training exercise. Other days, he would return to be greeted by a madman's smile, and a whispered "have you seen mother again?" Zack never responded, and fortunately the madman wrapped in the general's skin had not advanced on him again. Yet.

Life went on in the chilled, over-bright air of the hated little room. Time passed in the way it always had for Zack when he was not busy. The days would last forever, and the boredom of routine was so intense it was a torture in and of itself. Then before he knew it, he realized that he could no longer count how many times he had fallen asleep since he entered the building. He had hit one hundred and thirty seven by the time he gave up numbering them. It was not a comforting number. Sephiroth rarely spoke beyond the whispered, crazed inquiries and an occasional clipped comment when he was sane. Usually something along the lines of "breathe" or "stop that" or "That course of action would be extremely inadvisable." The last was in response to Zack's plan to throw the toilet at 'the next fucking guard who walks in that door.' Zack had been tempted to try it just to get a rise out of his companion.

It turned out that it took much less than a drastic escape attempt to catch his attention.

One day, the routine broke. Zack had been put through his paces once more (this time forced to swim in a minuscule tank against a current for so long they'd had to fish him out before he drowned) and filled with the noxious shit. He was thrown into the room with his veins still burning under the assault, and achieved a spectacular face plant. He lay still a moment, waiting for a comment from the ever present peanut gallery. When not a sound acknowledged his entrance, he looked up and found the room empty of its other inhabitant. Zack rose shakily to his feet, bracing his hands on his knees for a moment, willing them not to give out under him. He walked carefully to the door, muscles trembling under the use, and shaking his wet hair out of his face. At least the swim had given him something like a shower. He had badly needed that.

The hall outside was empty of life, but Zack's enhanced hearing could pick up a murmur of sound beyond his cramped living quarters. Apparently Hojo was working overtime on Sephiroth. Zack shuddered at the thought, thanking whatever gods were watching him in this forsaken place that he himself had not seen Hojo since that one sickening night where his body had been turned into plumbing for the geostigma.

He walked back to the bed, settling down to wait for his only friend and let his body recover some of its strength, automatically humming a strain of his mother's lullabies as he laid back and laced his fingers together over his stomach. He rarely allowed himself to dwell on the world that, supposedly still lay beyond the captivity, but he indulged himself in trying to remember the smell of Aerith's pies now, while he was alone, with no imminent danger from the ever unstable Sephiroth. He couldn't remember the smell or the taste, but he recalled her smile of pleasure when he told her how much he loved her cooking, and Reno's indignation at being left out of the pie-eating ceremony taking place between sweethearts. It was a memory tinted with the rose glasses of afterthought. At the time he had still been hurting after Angeal's death, and hadn't known how precious the moment would become. He wished now he had been paying more attention to the banter going on around him, but enjoyed trying to fill it in mentally. It was fun making Reno speak only in curse words and repetitions of 'yo.'

The door opened with a whisper, and Zack snapped his eyes open from his half doze to watch Sephiroth walk in smoothly, gait perfectly controlled as ever. Zack sat up slowly, a pricking sensation crawling up his spine at the half-smile curving Sephiroth's lips into full glory. The door swung shut behind him with a final click of locks sliding into place and Sephiroth's eyes pinned Zack to the spot with their full intensity.

"Ahh, Zackary," he purred, in a voice that was his and so incredibly not right that it made Zack's stomach twist, "I believe you have breached our agreement, haven't you. More than once, if I'm not mistaken." Silver eyes flashed in the light. Zack slid off the bed, forcing his stance on the floor to be firm despite protesting muscles.

"We had an agreement?" he asked, careful to keep his voice as light and unimposing as possible, tilting his head in patented "puppy pose." The smile bending perfect bow lips slipped away, and the air in the room thickened with an impending clash between the two men.

"Your hands reek of the sickness," the mockery of Sephiroth hissed, "I have felt you touch me in those moments. Liar," he spat the last word, and Zack could swear he saw that silver hair lift around him if in an intangible wind. He crouched a little, and was prepared when Sephiroth came at him.

The man was quick as a flicker of lighting, swooping in with all the majesty and poise of an eagle falling towards it's kill. With all the grace of a lame basset hound, Zack blocked his strike, forearm shrieking with pain where Sephiroth's fist collided with muscle and bone, bruising both, but not breaking his guard. The man was on him again in a moment, rebounding from the attack as quickly as Zack registered it. Automatically, Zack's hand rose to divert the next strike, but palming aside a technique delivered by Sephiroth was never a good idea. Three of his fingers let out alarming popping sounds as they slid the kick to the away from him, and pain flared in his mind. He backed off, instantly switching to the defensive.

It would have been the perfect strategical move to make in any other situation, but within a step his back hit the wall. By the time Zack registered that he should have circled and was out of room in the cramped environment, Sephiroth had his elegant hands wrapped around his neck, tightening his grip till the blood pounded labored in Zack's ears and he gasped hollowly, unable to draw enough air into his lungs. Sephiroth let out a bark of laughter.

"Poor puppy. I suppose it's not your fault Angeal never properly trained you. Didn't he tell you what happens to soldiers who can't follow orders?" Zack raised his hands as though he was underwater, fighting against an unseen weight to claw at Sephiroth's wrists, gouging at pressure points and shallow veins. The grip only tightened, and Zack gagged, the pressure building inside his head making him feel overstuffed and dizzy. "They don't last long."

Zack could feel the shifting of each individual finger, each minuscule shift in pressure re-arranging the blood vessels in his neck. He lashed out fiercely, kicking wildly at the man who held him, striking at his knees with the heels of his bare feet and raising a chuckle from the cold entity before him. He snarled in concentration, trying to writhe one of his own hands under the ever-tightening grasp, pressure building on his Trescha, cutting off his air supply as well as blood flow. He twitched violently, struggling for all he was worth, digging through overly-tough skin and feeling slick blood slide out form under his nails, dripping off Sephiroth's wrists to the floor or sliding down and joining his hands, warm on Zack's tortured throat. There was a tightening sensation through his whole body, as though he was drawing up into the pain, and would fold inward until all that remained of him lay in Sephiroth's grip.

He was still trying desperately to speak, to explain himself, mouth gaping open and forming soundless half-words. His world was fuzzing at the edges, the room around him falling out of focus and the immaculate smile on Sephiroth's face filling his awareness. Far too soon, he realized he couldn't concentrate well enough even to mouth words, and he could feel his fingers slipping in the slick blood he'd managed to raise from Sephiroth's skin, running out of strength, and dropping like dead birds to hang useless at his sides. His knees buckled under his weight, but he didn't sink downwards, the grip on his neck strong enough to hold him up against the weight of his body. The world faded out into the roar of blood in his ears, and the last thing he saw before the world went dark was silver eyes gazing at him with a relaxed, morbid curiosity. He let his eyes slide closed, and vaguely felt the touch of hot tears flooding down his face, one final embarrassment.

'What a waste,' he thought as he felt himself begin to lift away from the world, slowly, as though anchored to harbor in a rising tide. 'In the end I couldn't help anyone...' And then he was gone, floating in peaceful darkness, finally free from pain.

The darkness, strangely enough, was not oppressive in any way. In fact, it brought Zack great comfort to find himself finally free from the all-seeing light of the labs. As soon as he lost touch with the last shred of pain remaining from his death, he was overcome with a rush of welcome. He couldn't see anyone, but there were familiar presences all around him. He would have sworn that he could smell Angeal's cologne. It was the happiest he had been since that fateful, twisted day at Nibelheim. He had the feeling he'd been waiting for this the whole time, for the darkness that he had first seen lying empty on those stairs to rise up and claim him. It was inevitable, after all. He wasn't a hero, or a monster. His role was to die.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than a firm pair of hands pressed themselves against his back and _shoved_. Then he was rising, or falling, or being jerked to the side, too overwhelmed by the feeling of vertigo to notice his direction, and becoming better acquainted with the feeling of a yo yo at the bottom of its swing. As abruptly as he had been set free of his agony, he was flung back into it, gasping and hacking, his vision dark and bones ringing with a recent jolt that he did not remember. Through his own chokes, he could hear a high pitched whining in his ears as the blood flow returned to his head.

A soft curse ripped itself from between his lips and he tasted blood on his tongue. He blinked hot, blurry eyes open, setting loose another cascade of tears, only to find the world twisting around him. With a moan, he curled in on himself, shuddering fiercely, sucking in deep lungfuls of precious air and overwhelmed by the immense feeling of everything. He was certain he could feel his neck putting itself back together even as he lay there, small, painful pops and cracks signaling where the mako healed crushed blood vessels and injured muscle. The sound of another body hitting the floor cut through the fuzzing roar in his ears and he stiffened, breath stilling briefly before continuing, ragged, desperate pants not to be denied. He had forgotten his attacker was still in the room.

Painstakingly he levered himself onto his elbows and slanted his eyes open again, an unfamiliar hateful feeling bubbling within his chest. If Sephiroth was going to kill him he could at least do it properly. Strangely, the rage didn't dissipate when he saw the other man curled up against the far wall, staring at him out of wide and traumatized eyes, more emotion present on that face than Zack had ever seen before. It didn't detract from the writhing anger simmering in his chest, magnified by the lingering feeling of having been stuffed full of cotton and left to moulder. It only made him feel emptier.

His vision cleared further, and he very slowly rose to a sitting position, never moving his hateful gaze from Sephiroth's face. His eyes were brilliant green once more, and Zack suddenly felt sick to death of having to track the changes in his eyes. Bright red blood stained Sephiroth's lips, stark against his ashen skin, and slowly Zack raised a hand to his own face, feeling the blood flowing from his nose and the sticky stains around his mouth.

"You brought me back," He whispered woodenly, shaken to the core by the knowledge, so furious and grateful at once he thought he would split in half. Sephiroth was silent, chest heaving under his frozen face, lending life to the marble statue of horror incarnate. "You killed me, then you brought me back." He whispered, testing the words out on his tongue, finding them sufficiently coated with accusation.

Sephiroth's brows twisted upward in hopeless agony, and he opened his mouth to explain, or apologize, or whatever it was you did after killing someone to save them. Possibly gloat. The stigma cut him off, choking his words and sliding from between firmly shuttered lips. Very slowly and deliberately, Zack turned his back on those wide, guilt-ridden eyes and sat, hard a stone, waiting for his brain to function again and the heat of too much blood to leave his face. Behind him, the sounds of Sephiroth's sickness choked and gasped and strained, and for the first time, Zack didn't feel as though he should help in the slightest. Sephiroth had dug his own grave. Let him rot in it.


	10. As the Wind Behaves

**A/N: Sorry it took me, but fear not, for before you lies (gasp) the longest chapter so far. Hope you guys enjoy it! It kinda kicked me in the ass while I was writing it... As ever, remember that your reviews are food for the author monster! (me.) Many thanks to the amazing Rakuengaki for being an awesome beta reader and reading, like, five different versions of this chapter!**

**I don't own Final Fantasy VII. Yet.  
**

Chapter 10—As the Wind Behaves

Zack woke from dreams of floating, weightless in the dark, surrounded by loved ones, a brimming mug of his mother's hot chocolate in hand. It ought to have been a wonderful dream, but instead it left him feeling cold and empty, a reminder of all he had lost. He lay flat on the floor, head tilted back to stare directly into the bright light above him, feeling no need to move and reveling in the splitting headache pounding through his skull. It meant he was alive, and that was an improvement over the night before.

He lifted a hand slowly to his neck, feeling dried blood crusted on his skin, both his and Sephiroth's. In disgust, he started scratching it away, only to wince at the fierce pain his fingers elicited on damaged flesh. He dropped his hand back to the floor, the taste of blood strong in his mouth and its rusty smell overwhelming him. He hated nose bleeds much more now than he had as a kid. SOLDIER senses made the smell overwhelming. He licked his lips absently and grimaced at the taste of his own blood, then frowned in confusion.

There was another taste in addition to blood; something sickly and acidic. His eyes widened as he recognized it from a scent he had come to know intimately. He could taste Sephiroth inside him. His gut wrenched and he lunged for the toilet, retching the taste of his murderer (savior?) out of his mouth. The taste of bile replaced the faint traces of the psychopath in his mouth, but he remained leaning on the cold bowl for a long time, shuddering in agony.

It wasn't that his neck hurt. That was bearable, and the mako seemed to have done its healing work well. The problem was less the injury than the one who inflicted it. The whole time he'd been locked up in the terrifying, claustrophobic labs he'd reassured himself that Sephiroth, when it came down to it, would never kill him. What had happened with Cloud Zack had chosen to ignore and hide from, thinking that perhaps Sephiroth was mistaken and their blonde friend still lived somewhere. Then Sephiroth had strangled him to death the night before, and stolen even that slim hope.

He slumped to the ground again, tears streaking down his cheeks, making the blood on his face wet once more, because the one thing that he knew without a doubt was that he no longer mattered. Even death, where he had hoped to find some peace, had turned him away now, and he had no guarantee he wouldn't be flung back into that darkness anyway. Sephiroth had made it abundantly clear the night before that he could kill the younger SOLDIER any time he liked. Bitterly, Zack hoped that he would not be able to revive him again.

The guards entered the room to find him half propped against the toilet, his head bowed under the weight of weakness. They dragged him from the room without bothering to order him up, recognizing a broken man when they saw one. They were not an unusual find when you worked in Hojo's labs. He was hauled to the despicable treadmill, and the young man ordered him to run from the side of the room. Zack stood from the grasp of the two troopers and attacked the treadmill with an aggressive fervor, desperate to feel good at something.

It served only to remind him of how weak he really was as he failed only two hours into the test, breaking his record of steady improvement over the past hundred runs. He simply didn't have the will to continue past that and slumped like a boiled noodle to the moving tread below him. He was hauled to his feet again almost instantly and his arm yanked harshly outward to expose itself for the injection.

When the doctor approached he was startled to see a small syringe full of a pale yellow liquid rather than the usual black sludge. It pierced his vein neatly, with barely a twinge in sharp contrast to the usual shock of pain. He blinked confusedly at the young man whose head was bowed over his arm. The dark look he was given filled him with a sickening kind of dread. He tried to straighten, but was hauled out of the room by his guards before he could.

It took him a little time being towed along before he realized they were going the wrong way. He still couldn't quite gain his feet, but he continued to try, especially once the guards started grumbling nervously to themselves. He was pulled into a small room and almost panicked at the thought of being locked in. Then he saw the buttons along the wall. One of his guards shook him sharply to cut off his short chuckle before pressing the lowest button available. Zack was pretty sure it read 'B5' but he wouldn't have sworn by it. His vision was blurring viciously.

The elevator jerked downward with a scream of gears and Zack lost his slight footing, wrenching his shoulders as he slumped in the grips of the altered troopers. They didn't move, and Zack didn't attempt to regain his feet, finding himself justified in his decision as they slammed to a halt suddenly enough that one of his guards stumbled.

When the doors opened, he was slung into a dark, cavernous room where he landed hard on the freezing cold floor. He gasped softly as it touched his still over-heated skin. He struggled to his hands and knees quickly, hearing the elevator doors slide shut behind him. When he looked up, he was greeted by the sight of Sephiroth standing stark and pale, like a beacon shining in the dark room, fixing him with a startled stare.

"Oh," Zack muttered venomously, "it's you." He forced himself to his feet, coercing damaged muscles into cooperation in the face of his murderer. He glanced briefly around the vast arena. It was almost utterly featureless but for a wide, dark row of windows inlaid high up in the bleak walls. They were being observed. He looked up to the ceiling and found only a black abyss above him. A powerful fear stole over him at the sight of emptiness above. Before he could even begin to guess at what was happening, a voice erupted from the walls.

"Well, Project S," Hojo droned, voice horrifically loud in the cavernous area, "aren't you going to welcome your friend?" Sephiroth remained silent, standing stock still and gazing at the one-way windows above them. A faint, static-like noise was slowly filling the air, and Zack began to wonder what the hell was wrong with Hojo's equipment as the buzzing slowly grew.

"This is a test of attention." Hojo's voice announced, clearly and concisely. "Project S will commence battle while attempting to defend a secondary subject."

"What?" Zack barked in protest, staring daggers at the one-way windows, "I don't need him to protect me!" He carefully noted how Sephiroth's body language had shifted subtly, his knees bent and shoulders stiffened against a so-far invisible threat. Even as the words left his lips, the world seemed to tilt around him, sending him reeling for a moment.

"The hell..?" he muttered as he regained his balance. Sephiroth's gaze flew back to him, eyes wide. The humming noise intensified, filling the cavern around them with the mind-numbing scream of static. Slowly and deliberately, Sephiroth tilted his chin back, lifting his wide-eyed gaze from Zack to the ceiling above them. Zack looked as well; despite the blurriness of his vision, he could see that the darkness was moving. He was almost certain there were little shapes swimming through the black.

"Zackary," Sephiroth murmured, voice quiet and calm, "stay close."

"I'd really rather not." Zack snapped back, hackles up from Hojo's comment and far from pleased about being given advice from the man who'd killed him the night before. Sephiroth's gaze lowered to Zack again and he nodded faintly.

"Understandable," he said, shifting slightly. Zack watched him turn away, his ratty hair falling over tense muscles.

"No failsafes will be put in place," the voice of Hojo cut through the air. "Testing will now commence."

The static abruptly changed into a shriek from above. What Zack had taken for a black tunnel with small lights inside it suddenly spread itself and erupted into hundreds of winged creatures, midnight colored bat-wings suddenly stretching taut with a crack audible even over the roar.

"Perhaps now you will consent to stay nearby?" Sephiroth whispered for Zack's ears only. Zack nodded mutely, though Sephiroth's head was turned, and watched in horror as the first group of creatures detached themselves from the ceiling sweeping down upon them. Zack sunk down into a crouch, fighting off another wave of inexplicable dizziness, fists clenching in preparation.

Before the creatures could attack, Sephiroth tensed. An explosion of air whipped Zack's hair across his face, forcing him to close his eyes against the biting wind. When he opened them, Sephiroth had a monster of a wing arching out of his shoulder, joined to his back in a patch of pitch black down and reddened, irritated skin. Before Zack could process the vision, the silver general lept into the air, wing snapping down sharply, propelling him upward. Zack was left behind on the ground, gaping upwards as Sephiroth ripped the first beast's head from it's shoulders. Blood splattered to the ground below the whirling vision of pearly skin.

Zack's jaw fell slack as he stared into the air. The power in every slight movement Sephiroth made was breathtaking. In midair, where romantics would imagine each move as graceful as water, Sephiroth was militaristic, every snap of his enormous wing calculated and precise. The first three monsters were reduced to bodies on the floor within moments of Sephiroth taking to the air. As the beasts left on the ceiling jostled each other, shrieking defiance to the walls, the general descended, touching down next to Zack with barely a sound.

"You have a _wing_," Zack hissed as Sephiroth backed up as step to stand just to the side of him. The mentioned appendage shuddered with tension, and Zack could hear the quills clacking against one another. Sephiroth made a quiet noise of assent, shifting a little. His bare feet slid across the uneven floor beneath them, feeling out the unstable, ragged footing it offered.

"He's probably drugged you," the winged man murmured, eyes still fixed on the threat above them. "Fight as long as you can. When you give out, I will be there."

Zack was about to make a comment on how unlikely he found that when the next group of creatures detached from the ceiling. Black feathers struck down against the air, sending Sephiroth screaming upwards to meet them, bare hand against tooth and claw. Zack watched the beasts part around him, two smashing into his punishing blows while the others flowed past like interrupted water, streaming downwards to meet him.

Despite himself, Zack grinned in manic joy as he raised his fists. He was tired, confused, and hurt, but he'd been raring for a fight since he first woke up. He wasn't about to turn down a chance to obliterate some monsters.

The first bat-thing reached him, jaws opening wide to reveal a solid row of wickedly curved fangs, and he reveled in the feeling of it's skin bending underneath the power of his fist. After that he was lost in a whirl of battle, barely keeping ahead of his three opponents as they swept in on each others heels. In the back of his mind, while he automatically blocked each attack, he added fighting to his list of things he'd missed. After all, he liked things he was good at.

The tortured, inhuman cries from above implied that Sephiroth was sharing similar success against his own opponents. Zack's enthusiastic grin stayed firmly in place. As his first set of opponents fell, he once again felt the jerk of dizziness, but shook it off, raising his head to watch Sephiroth, a constant blur of movement as more and more monsters swept down. He didn't have much time to observe before he was attacked again. There was, after all, only so much one man could do.

There was a rhythm to the fight. Zack was never entirely overwhelmed, since the monsters seemed to prefer attacking him in groups of three or four, appearing to share a preference for staying in the air. Still, they were relentless. He never had more than a brief moment to glance upwards at his general as he slowly massacred the ranks of beasts attacking him before he was once more ensconced in battle. He'd taken out four groups of the things, struggling to avoid the bodies starting to choke the floor when things went bad.

As one of the bat-things descended upon him, he shot a fist out to meet it, and was stunned to feel his wrist collapse under the contact, weakening the punch so much it only stunned the beast instead of taking it down. His eyes widened as the world seemed to smudge around him, the overwhelming echo in the cavern warping. As though from a great distance, he felt himself crash to his knees, and watched the gaping maw of a beast descend on him, trying to raise a hand only to find his arms unresponsive. 'Move,' he ordered himself mentally, 'move or you're dead. Again!'

He moved, tucking into an undignified roll, to remove himself from the monster's path. He hauled himself to his feet, feeling for the first time the weakness spreading through his body, having been held at bay by the enormous amounts of adrenaline pumping through him. He took a deep breath, backing away a couple steps from the regrouping crowd of creatures. They glanced at one another, wide nostrils sucking in deep breaths of air through their pig-like noses, beady eyes examining one another before turning on Zackary again, approaching in predatory hunches, wings tucked tightly to their sides and inelegant gaits lengthening.

"Shit..." Zack hissed to himself, "that's a hunting bunny rabbits look!" he accused the approaching creatures. "I'm not a bunny!" They lunged at him and he forced himself to listen to his instincts rather than his pride. His instincts were screaming 'run,' so he turned, booking it back towards the center of activity in the room. There was a whirling mass in the middle of the air which was centered on Sephiroth, monsters swooping down from the ceiling in spirals as quickly as the bodies dropped to the floor.

He could heard the snap of wings behind him and screamed to a stop, ducking in time for one of his pursuers to sail over his head, talons extended as it shrieked indignantly. He almost passed out straightening again, cursing under his breath as he looked around the newly formed circle of foes, shifting around to keep an eye on all of them. He was filled with an absolute certainty that if he didn't do something fast he would be messily devoured in no time. Instead, against his will, he sank to his knees, arms sagging to his sides, even as his every instinct screamed that he had to fight.

The creatures lept forward as one, and Zack braced himself, curling inwards over his chest, hoping he would survive this onslaught.

The strike never came. Instead, a hollow shriek split the air. Zack jerked his head up to stare at the vision of silver and black standing before him. Sephiroth's wing was spread upwards, shaking in threat, his form tense where he stood in front of Zack. The cries of the beasts were deafening, and Zack looked up to see a whirlwind of them above, circling the two warriors with the lazy grace of vultures. They were so thick in the air that the well-lit observation room seemed black as pitch.

"Oh Gaia..." Zack muttered quietly, trying and failing to pull himself to his feet, "We're gonna get slaughtered."

"No," said Sephiroth, voice hard as stone, unwavering despite the intense effort he had already put forth into covering the ground in a blanket of bodies. He backed up a step without looking away from the whirl of enemies, reaching down to grip Zack's bicep, hauling him to his feet with barely a thought. Zack stumbled, but locked his knees firmly in place, staying upright through desire alone. "I will deal with these vermin, and you will defend yourself as long as you can. When you are no longer able..." The silver haired warrior glanced at him for the first time, and Zack felt the brush of feathers across his back as the wing shifted to half-guard him from the beasts, caught breathless by the calm assurance in those uncanny eyes. "Then you will stay out of the way."

At that, the beasts dove inward, ending their respite. Zack whirled to face the opposite direction from Sephiroth then stayed rooted to the spot, strangely comforted by the knowledge that behind him was the strongest man on the face of the earth, who was currently his ally. Right before his fist connected with the first beast, he heard his general rumble under his breath "Don't disappoint me, Zackary."

It was a furiously fast exchange, the monsters swooping in relentlessly, shrieking cries echoing off the walls. Those not fast enough fell at their feet, forming a wall of bodies about them. Even as he surfed atop the cresting wave of battle, Zack could feel the encroaching paralysis promised by Hojo's injection. Behind him were the screams of those monsters unlucky enough to choose to fight Sephiroth, punctuated by the soft grunts of the sliver general himself. To Zack's right, he could sometimes spy the movement of his partner's wing, stretching out to balance him, or twitching as it took the brunt of an attack that was intended for Zack himself. Sephiroth's attention was certainly divided.

Zack held out as long as he could; he had always been a fighter, but even he could not stand against his collapsing body for long. His punches grew weaker, and Sephiroth was forced to defend more often from the enemies flanking him, but even the silver general was not infallible. Zack caught a talon across his shoulder, which at least he'd deflected from his chest, but that was the end of his limited control over his body. He slumped to his hands and knees, gasping for air.

A moment later, a dirtied, pale foot stepped in front of him defensively, and he heard the quiver of feathers cracking against each other in anger.

"Stay down," Sephiroth's voice growled above him, only slightly weaker than the last time he spoke. "You've done your part." The words that would have been bitter or condescending falling from other lips brought a slight smile to Zack's face even as he slumped to the ground. For Sephiroth, that was the height of approval. The screams of battle above him began again as the monsters grew used to the new configuration, remaining clearly audible, even as his other senses distorted. With a wince, he forced himself to turn over. If death was coming, he wanted to see it.

What he saw instead was Sephiroth guarding his prone form, striking down any monster that came within ten feet of him. His lighting speed far outmatched the quick reflexes of the beasts, his wing whipping out to help him maintain balance. Zack could hardly keep up with his movements in his exhausted state, but even he could tell the general was all but unstoppable.

It was the 'but' part of that phrase that proved to be the problem.

One of the beasts managed to strike his wing hard, throwing him off balance. The splatter of his blood on the hard floor made Zack jump slightly, and he stared, eyes like saucers, stunned by his defender's injury. Sephiroth didn't even flinch past the initial stumble, but neither did he return to dominating the field. In no time he was forced back towards Zack, the monsters continually trying to cut him off. Soon Sephiroth was reduced to fending off only the creatures who made themselves imminently dangerous.

Zack could see that he was, in fact, making a significant dent. Most of the creatures lay broken on the floor now, steaming corpses in the cold room. The whirlpool of bodies above them had thinned to a smattering of dark wings in the air, and Zack was starting to regain feeling in the tips of his fingers, blood-pumping excitement wearing the toxin quickly out of his system. In contrast, Sephiroth was fading fast. The creatures had jumped on his moment of weakness as quickly as they had exploited Zack's, descending on him thickly from all sides. Capable as Sephiroth was, even he had blind spots. Zack didn't see exactly which of the monsters hit him first, but he felt the hot blood that splattered from Sephiroth's side onto his cheek, the acidic smell as effective as a smelling salt to the exhausted man. He blinked, forcing himself to watch more closely, struggling against gravity to rise and assist his general. The silver warrior gripped the jaw of the creature that had bitten his side and ripped it of his own flesh, tossing it away.

One of the remaining creatures noticed Zack's renewed energy and swooped down upon him only to be rudely interrupted by Sephiroth, who stepped in to stand over Zack, halting the creature's decent only by implanting his forearm in its path. More of that hot blood spilled down onto Zack's torso as the monster ground its teeth in Sephiroth's arm before being swatted aside like a fly. Zack heard a soft hiss of pain from the man above him.

Sephiroth risked a glance downwards, meeting Zack's gaze for an instant, before switching his attention back to their opponents, leaving Zack wondering if he had imagined the pride lingering in those pools of green.

There were too many of the beasts left. The remaining creatures appeared to have grown smarter as they watched their companions fall. They circled now, both on ground and in air, growling lowly in their chests, waiting for their opponents to falter, apparently aware that they now held the upper hand. Zack took a quick head count and found twenty seven still active. He took a deep, calming breath, trying to believe in Sephiroth's abilities to pull them through, but he knew this wouldn't go well.

"Test has shown remarkable capabilities thus far," Hojo's voice whined disappointedly over the speakers. Zack let out a low, annoyed moan that elicited a snort of amusement from the stoic general. "Final stage of test will commence." At his final word, an unbearably loud, high-pitched shrieking blared over the speakers, filling the cave. Every one of the monsters remaining screamed their anger to the sky. Sephiroth also let out a sharp yell, raising his hands to his ears. Zack grimaced, but he found it bearable. Obnoxious certainly, but not painful as it appeared to be for the others. The bat creatures folded their large ears down to their sculls, shaking their heads, but Sephiroth remained hunched over, the noise apparently destroying his concentration. With their hearing blocked, the creatures turned their ugly faces as though by unspoken command to Zack. Suddenly, Zack found he could speak again.

"Oh HELL no!" he yelled, voice hollower than normal, but still louder than many humans ever managed. He struggled to sit, and found it useless, his muscles barely managing to flex at his command. The creatures lunged.

With a yell of effort Sephiroth darted forward once again getting between the creatures and their intended victim, face pulled up in a snarl of frustration and pain, bright red blood streaking across his skin. His wing fluttered behind him like a torn banner, crumpled feathers trailing droplets of darker blood in its wake.

Zack dimly felt teeth clamp down on his leg as Sephiroth fought off the more life threatening beast. The searing pain was enough for him to concentrate all his energy into kicking the hell out of whatever had its teeth in him. He managed to bang it hard enough on the nose for it to release, stepping back in confusion. Then Sephiroth was there, standing possessively over Zack, with blood now streaking in pink rivers down his legs and smeared across his chest grotesquely. His eyes were blazing pools of mako green, his labored breathing aggressive. The creatures paused again, made hesitant by the mad light in Sephiroth's gaze, then rushed as one, leaping upwards to crash down on Sephiroth's head, sharp talons extended.

Zack saw a fleeting smile flick across Sephiroth's face, then the world exploded in flames. So did the remaining beasts. Zack flinched as flaming body parts pounded to the ground around them, smelling disturbingly of barbecue. He blinked up at Sephiroth, drawing in a long breath, trying to coax his heart out of his throat.

"Holy shit," he managed. The high pitched whine finally cut off the speakers and Sephiroth shook his head as though to clear it, his wing tucking firmly up against his back. He didn't move from where he stood over Zack, eyes fixed on the elevator doors as he waited for the inevitable troopers to arrive for them. Zack was about to explode from the sheer badassery of the fight, but paused when he saw the shaking muscles in Sephiroth's leg, and the bloodstains on his feet, where he'd ripped them on the hard floor while protecting him. He shivered slightly as he realized exactly how close that fight had come.

The door slid open to admit a set of no less than seven altered troopers, guns at the ready. They approached slowly, pausing outside the ring of bodies Sephiroth had created. Zack recognized his usual guards as they stepped forward to grab him, and nearly jumped out of his skin when Sephiroth snapped at them.

"One hand on him and you join the bodies," he snarled. Zack watched in wonder as long legs tensed. The crazy bastard meant it. The troopers halted in their steps. Painstakingly, Sephiroth bent and grabbed hold of Zack's arms, hissing "walk if you can. Show them you're strong."

When Sephiroth placed him on his feet, Zack looked up at his friend's face, blank as a block of ice. The hands gripping his arms were quaking. He locked his knees and straightened. The toxin was well on its way to wearing off, and if Sephiroth could rip himself to shreds for his sake, he could stand up. Sephiroth released one of his arms, but kept hold of the other, striding somewhat slower than usual through the body piles. His grip kept Zack upright, even with his injured leg howling at every step. He showed absolutely no weakness in the face of their captors. Three of the altered guards stayed behind, presumably for cleanup, Zack thought with a wicked smile. The others boarded the small elevator with them, keeping their guns trained on the two prisoners, body language tense. Zack imagined that behind the helmets there must have been fear in their eyes.

The walk back to the cell would have been a misery of pain without the thrill of victory still vibrating through him. Added to that was that the more he walked, the more he was able to move. It made the bite on his ankle hurt more too, but that was beside the point. Sephiroth was a silent, solid presence beside him, but Zack saw something of a swagger in the man's stiff walk. None of the guards dared get to close, keeping their guns raised the whole march. Apparently, they had taken a good look at what Sephiroth had done to the monsters littering the ground in that room.

One of the troopers opened the door, and the two men walked in under their own power. Almost as soon as the guards closed the portal behind them, Zack started laughing, folding over in helpless whimpers of amusement. It felt wonderful to laugh again, even at something so dark as the encounter they had just survived. Remembering his companion, he railed in his chuckles to look over at Sephiroth. The horrifically confused look the silver general was giving him for his inappropriate laughter overcame Zack with another round of giggles. He had to wipe a tear of mirth from his eye, wheezing for breath, when he managed to straighten again, a dazed smile still on his face.

"Get over here and sit down before you pass out," he ordered his commander, a hint of glee still hidden in his voice. Sephiroth let out a long, bemused sigh as he stepped over towards him, wing still folded tightly against his back, apparently attempting to be discreet without vanishing again. Sephiroth's step faltered suddenly, one leg giving out under his weight, and Zack caught him without a thought. He was startled to feel the heat of the pale, sweaty skin, so sharply in opposition to the usual deathly cold. Apparently the geostigma took even the heat out of him.

Sephiroth stiffened under the touch, muscles shaking. For a moment Zack thought he'd end up on his ass for touching the warrior. Then Sephiroth straightened slightly, without removing Zack's hands from his person. Zack noted the almost imperceptible amount of weight Sephiroth placed on him and felt his chest tighten. The short walk to the cot against the wall took no time at all, but it felt important. Sephiroth had saved Zack, and Zack had helped Sephiroth in return, however trivially. From here they could work.

Sephiroth sat down carefully, wing lifting tiredly out of the way, spreading itself out across the hard surface like a living blanket. The silver warrior let his head bow, his breaths immediately easing, more even now that he was off his feet. Zack slowly removed his hands from Sephiroth's chest to kneel and examine the wound in his side. He flinched at the pull on his wounded ankle, but the sight of the injury up close forced him to reconsider complaining at all about it.

There was a significant amount of damage. The creature had sunk every one of its fangs into Sephiroth's side gouging jagged rips across his skin when it was ripped from him. The ribboned flesh was a poor concealment for the damaged muscles beneath. Though the wounds were bleeding only a little as Sephiroth's enhancements did their work, they must have been horrifically painful. With a wince of solidarity, Zack moved on to his friend's massacred arm, inspecting the torn muscle and biting back nausea at the sight of pearly bone healing itself beneath the red.

"Holy hell..." he exclaimed as he investigated the wound. There were a dozen other nicks and slices across Sephiroth's body from the wicked talons of the beasts, but the silver general was healing so fast that they were already all but insignificant. Looking back up into his partner's face, Zack burst into a wide grin. "You're so damn _cool_ you bastard!" he cried, almost exploding with excitement. Sephiroth only arched an eyebrow calmly at his statement, but Zack was too busy being enthusiastic to care.

"How long have you had a wing?" he questioned incredulously, standing upright again to peer over Sephiroth's shoulder, moving his hair out of the way. Sephiroth gave an eloquent shrug, the wing following the motion with a half-flap of agreement. Its dark blood still dripped off of black feathers onto the dull metal of the table in oily splashes. Zack reached out a hand to touch the downy feathers connecting it to his general's back. Zack had enough time to notice how soft they were before the man jumped, gasping softly, the feathers shifting under his touch in reaction. He lifted his hand away quickly and pulled back, staring at Sephiroth in worry.

"Sorry! Did I hurt you?" He asked quickly, hands drawing automatically to rest on Sephiroth's biceps, all qualms about touch forgotten in the wake of their ordeal. Sephiroth was staring at him with such a startled expression that Zack had to fight down the urge to laugh again, instead waiting for an answer. Slowly, Sephiroth shook his head, and Zack let out a breath.

"Why do you care?" the wounded man asked, sitting still as stone but for the wing moving gently behind him. Zack heard no accusation or sarcasm in his tone, only gentle, confused inquiry, and frowned to himself, removing his hands carefully from Sephiroth's skin to cross his arms thoughtfully. His brow furrowed slightly as he considered it. He hadn't stopped being angry, exactly, but the fight had reiterated what he had known even in Nibelheim. Sephiroth, in his right mind, would never hurt him.

"You're my friend, Seph," he finally stated, deciding it was the best way to say it. Simple statements were always the way to go when dealing with emotions around the stoic general. "In fact, at the moment, you're my only friend. I'm not saying I'm not confused as hell because I am, and I'll also probably be pretty pissed when this sedative wears off, but even then, you still just saved my ass big time. It counts for something. 'Sides, you're more interesting to talk to than creepy dream lady."

Sephiroth, who had been slowly relaxing during this speech, his eyes softening at Zack's sentiment, snapped ridged at the last words, staring at Zack with wide eyes. Zack frowned slightly at the movement, running his eyes over Sephiroth's form and concluding that yes, sitting that stiffly was hurting him. The sharp movement had even re-opened the wounds on his side, sending fresh blood sliding down to pool on the metal below. He was about to get started scolding him for it when the man spoke, his voice intense and focused.

"What woman, Zackary?"


	11. With Direct Eyes

**A/N: Dear everyone,**

** Thank you so much for being patient with me! I've missed seeing all of you while I was away. Thanks for waiting, all my loyal readers! In case you're wondering, I was absent from the site because I was taking part in the amazing National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) which I defeated with a word count of 56,000 words written in a single month! Needless to say, it distracted me from this fic a little... but I learned a lot, and now all of you get to reap the benefits! So here they are, back again, our extremely unhappy heroes! Many thanks to Rakuengaki, the author of the sequel, who was such a huge help with this huge chapter! (in fact, she wrote the first part for me!) If you haven't read The Good Doctor's Plan, go do it! It's awesome.**

**A special note to Frodo Silverlune!**

** Thanks so much for reading with me. I feel really bad, because you're super awesome, but Cloud isn't actually scheduled to appear in this fic. He is, however, the main character of The Good Doctor's Plan by Rakuengaki, which is the side story/sequel to this story (and was actually written first!) You should definitely go look it up to get your Cloud fix. It's super awesome!**

**Enjoy the chapter, everyone! I missed you all!**

Chapter Eleven—With Direct Eyes

Zack thought he should get an award or ribbon or something just for surviving the look on the Silver General's face. He'd heard rumors of it, had even seen flashes a few times before but now as he faced the actual look, he thought he should be commended for not shaking in his non-existent boots.

"What woman, Zackary?" Sephiroth asked again, tone sharp with the unspoken order of an explanation and eyes narrowed as he waited. He had tensed when Zack mentioned his dream visitor and remained so now, shoulder blades pulled together, back ramrod straight, lips pulled into a thin line. Even his wing was stiff with the tension. Hesitantly, Zack swallowed down the nervousness in his throat and began to explain.

"She… I don't really know what she looks like. She sounds nice when she starts talking but then she starts talking about family and mother and she's always so cold. Do you--" Sephiroth stood abruptly, wing disappearing in a flurry of feathers, earlier weariness fading as he began to pace. Zack fell back at the sudden movement, catching himself on his hands and watched the man carefully, a shiver working up his spine as the image of long rows of book shelves flashed on either side of him.

"What—"

"It would be best not to listen to her, Zack. No matter how tired you are or what she says, ignore her and do not let her convince you of anything." Zack nodded slowly at the direct order and pulled himself off the cold floor onto the stiff cot, tracking his pacing friend with worried eyes.

"What's going on, Seph? Why are you so agitated about this? It's probably just my mind playing tricks on me or something!" Zack's attempt at laughing it off were ill received as Sephiroth glared sharply at him, pausing in his pacing to pull himself more upright, ignoring the pulling on his wounds and ran a hand through his hair in a rarely seen nervous gesture. Zack's worry grew as his mind raced.

"She is… not a figment of your mind, Zack, though I severely wish that she were. She is, perhaps, a secondary cause to our current situation."

"Secondary cause? What are you talking about?" Admittedly, he probably could have made the connection Sephiroth was implying but then again Zack had never been good at figuring things out when people were being vague. Mysticism and riddles bugged the crap out of him. Sephiroth heaved a frustrated sigh and stopped pacing, turning to look at Zack with hesitant, slightly down cast eyes.

"The secondary cause to our situation, Zack, is more than likely the woman you have been seeing in your dreams." Zack nodded slowly.

"The first cause being?"

"….Myself." Sephiroth ground, the word falling like acid from his lips. Zack leapt to his feet to deny the statement, his base instincts instantly denying that the damaged, enigmatic man could be responsible. The fact that he had thought the same thing himself only a day before didn't even occur to him in his outrage at the unfairness of the statement. Dizziness, however, caused him to choke on his words and stumble over his weakened ankle, Sephiroth catching him easily and setting him back down on the floor, hands stable once more. Quickly, Zack grabbed his arm and tugged to keep him from backing away, other hand pressed against his head in an attempt to stabilize the spinning whiteness of the room. Thoughts were crashing against each other in his mind creating a whirlwind of confusion. One thought would force itself upon him, drawing his quick agreement before an arguing statement caused him to reconsider. The denial that sprung to mind at Sephiroth placing the blame for their location and current treatment solely on himself was beaten back quickly with the fact that if Sephiroth hadn't locked himself away in the Shinra mansion basement and read over countless papers and books and gone on a rampage after reading them then they quite possibly wouldn't be here at this point.

However, a growing part of Zack didn't believe that to be true. There were circumstances and reasons behind all of this that were so confused and jumbled in his head that they slipped through his fingers like the wispy smoke of a cigarette. And the distracting buzzing in his ears and dizziness didn't help at all. Vaguely, he recognized someone shifting him around to lay flat on his back, a voice speaking to him that he couldn't understand though he thought he heard something about sleep. His confused mind latched onto that idea and ran with it, dragging him off into the darkness of exhaustion, the last effects of the drug still swimming through his system. Before his mind shut down completely, he forced himself to vow to think this over before making any solid opinions on Sephiroth's statement. He blinked his eyes open one last time, the distorted image of bright green eyes and blood-stained lips filling his view. When he faded away into dreams, he promised himself silently that he would remember to ask about the woman.

Of course, in the morning, he had no time to ask. When he awoke to strong hands on his shoulders, Sephiroth was gone once more. It was the same routine, and yet...

And yet something was irreparably different. Sephiroth was _his_ again, not that he ever had been before, but it was there. Sephiroth had risked his life for Zack Fair, and nothing Hojo and his cronies said or did would change that. Zack ran like hell that day, and didn't bother with stumbling weakly, his wounded ankle screaming in protest after no more than an hour. He could feel himself damaging it, and didn't care. Every time he came close to quitting, Sephiroth's voice echoed in his ears._ 'Show them you're strong.' _ With a wide grin, and a skip in his uneven, injured step, Zack ran until he passed out. Sephiroth was on his side now, and Zack was secure in his belief that no one could stand against that man. Not for long, anyhow. For the first time in ages, Zack had hope that he would one day get out of his tiny room, and away the evil treadmill and the empty people

"He's lying about me," a wounded musical voice warned him in his dreams. He almost laughed in her face, but instead he just shook his head and worked on toning her out. It suddenly became much harder as she started screaming wordlessly at him, enraged by his rejection of her previously welcomed comfort. As she was shrieking he snickered softly to himself, thinking of the stoic Sephiroth's heartfelt warning, and made a mental note to get a full explanation of who the crazy head-bitch was and why Sephiroth knew about her.

The screaming only increased as the moments passed, until _finally_ Zack fell into a deeper, true sleep, more out of self defense than any actual need. She never seemed to be there unless he was only half asleep. Another mystery, he thought to himself with a wistful sigh as the screaming faded out. For a moment, he was able to utterly enjoy the peace of his own mind. Then the whiteness appeared.

It was his holding cell times ten. So cramped and small he felt like he couldn't breathe, pressing his hands to either wall without even straightening his arms fully, and the entire, minuscule cubical so white he wasn't sure if he was even seeing it, or had just gone blind. He started screaming, and couldn't stop, slamming his hands against one wall desperately, trying to find room, space, make a hole, anything. He was running out of air, and trapped, and alone. And then he wasn't anymore, because the space lengthened and ballooned outwards to accommodate a second shape, slumped like a body in the corner. Zack's desperate, panicked breaths stopped dead in his lungs at the sight.

Hair matted into dark, twisted swaths falling down in front of his face, over his shoulders, into his lap, before merging, shining, like chains with the white walls around them, twisted black holding the silver strands together.

"Seph?" Zack croaked to the still figure. The hair shifted, though the body remained slumped, and the, like a puppet, the hair pulled back away from his face tilting his head back to the light. The gaze was dead and empty, and his mouth gaped open, bright red blood and utterly black stigma staining his lips and chin, trailing down his neck and chest, his hair sticking to it and obscuring his body. Zack drew back, pressing against the white wall behind him.

Hair slid down from the ceiling, apparently reaching around from behind him to fall from above, and wrapped around his wrists, drawing them up to his chest, then out towards Zack, the head tilting limply before being yanked back once more to reveal that gaping mouth, those glazed eyes. Zack looked quickly away, down to the hands being thrust out towards him, and wished he could scream.

Blood streaked across porcelain skin, as cold and white as death, as Sephiroth offered him a still beating heart, still connected to the gaping hole in his chest, and spurting blood across the floor, his hair, his body, his face. Tears streaked down Sephiroth's cold, dead cheeks from empty eyes, and it was like watching one of the legendary weeping statues in Wutai. There was nothing left alive of the man save for that fragile, dying heart, and as Zack stood frozen against the wall, he wanted to save it, so badly it hurt him as though his own heart was shattering apart.

Then he woke up in a freezing cold room, stripped bare, and shuddering convulsively against the cold. He was getting numb, and his teeth were clacking together so hard that it was painful.

"Fucking hells!" he hissed through his clattering jaw. He was so cold it _hurt_. He struggled to sit up, and managed to rise to a sitting pose, breath huffing out of him in curls of mist that managed to look darker than the stark walls. His eyes burned at the freezing temperature, and he closed them firmly for a moment, letting them water again rather than drying out in the frigid air. He lifted his hands to his mouth and puffed a breath of air onto fingers that felt as distant from him as though they were really made of ice. When he blinked his eyes open again, it was because the claustrophobia he'd begun to develop was always worse when he wasn't looking. He hated the light, but he hated the small worse.

He froze in more ways than one upon looking around. Sephiroth lay immobile in his corner, and Zack could have sworn his saw steam rising from the silver warrior's body as his unnatural heat was stolen by the frozen room. He lay inches away from a pool of the stigma, and Zack could have screamed with frustration at how _bored_ he already was with this routine of torture, and disappointment, and pain. Instead, he just bolted to the other man's side as quickly as his frozen legs would allow. He touched the once-general's shoulder and jerked his hand back instantly with a gasp. It felt to Zack's frozen fingers like Sephiroth was an inferno contained in flesh, but apparently the cold of his fingers was severe enough to awaken the larger man slightly,

Sephiroth let out a soft breath of air which, Zack decided right then and there, he would henceforth regard as a Sephiroth Moan. It was the closest the bastard seemed to get when any other being with any sense would be groaning like hell. The elder man turned his head just a little, looking up at Zack from the corner of a slanted eye with obvious confusion, even as he shifted in discomfort, his long limbs curling slightly inward.

"Zackary?" he grated, turning just a little more so that his chest was awkwardly compressed, but he could see Zack. His voice was little more than a whisper and a puff of misty breath. Zack stared down at his blue tinged skin, and the black stains on his lips and felt himself shivering convulsively in the freezing room, and blinked slowly, then huffed softly, his nose so deadened by the cold that he couldn't even smell the stigma, and pulled Sephiroth's shoulder around, helping him to turn to his back, revealing the faint, pink scars from the test the day before, which under less strenuous circumstances would have healed completely already. Zack settled beside him, more because his muscles had seized again than for any other reason and shot him a scowl.

"You're not gunna kill me for touching you this time, are you?" he asked, the bitterness in his voice cut by the fact that he was frozen to the bone. He was keeping his hands close to his chest, and clasped together now that they weren't on Sephiroth's burning hot skin. Sephiroth's eyes fell wearily closed and he shook his head with slow, painful reluctance.

"I will not," he muttered softly, and Zack nodded, then immediately flopped down next to Sephiroth and flattened himself against the larger man. The gasps of utterly awakened, stunning cold that greeted Zack's contact only served to amuse the younger man, even as he basked in the near painful heat of Sephiroth. The older man's brief halting struggle against the hold was cut short by another soft breath, and then he slumped, heart thundering in his chest.

"Don't fidget," Zack scolded, his skin soaking up the other soldier's warmth like a sponge. "You're _warm_. Why are you warm? Don't you do anything normally?" Zack's words were filler, and they both knew it. He was uncomfortable, and insecure, and covering it up with speech, and therefore Sephiroth didn't answer him. Zack placed one hand over his heart, uncaring of the smears of Stigma clinging to the Soldier's skin, and thereby his. The steady rise and fall of Sephiroth's chest was comforting in the unfamiliar atmosphere, especially after the dream. Zack let himself calm down, though it meant he got slightly colder in the parts of him not directly connected to his superior officer. In frustration at his own susceptibility, he rose smoothly away from Sephiroth and stepped away to start doing stiff squats, the blood rushing back into frozen limbs.

"That is ill-advised," Sephiroth warned. "You'll burn calories and freeze more later."

"Oh, stop being so sensible," Zack scolded breathlessly. "It's obnoxious. Tell me about crazy brain bitch instead." It was hard to watch Sephiroth's facial expressions while bouncing up and down in his trademark exercise, but Zack saw eyebrows rise over wearily closed eyes.

"Crazy...." he repeated to himself in confusion, a little lost at Zack's new nickname for his dream lady. When comprehension finally caught up, Sephiroth cracked open an eye again, fixing Zack with a disbelieving look for a moment before sighing, settling back on the hard floor once more, voice raspy and confused.

"What, exactly, do you wish to know? She is to be ignored." Sephiroth answered his inquest, as ever expecting that Zack would be satisfied with an order, as he himself would be. Unfortunately, Sephiroth wasn't a general right now, and Zack was bored. He dropped to do pushups instead of squats once the circulation returned somewhat to his legs.

"Yeah, I got that, but who is she? And why is she in my head?" Zack glanced over to him with a narrow-eyed half-suspicion. "And how do you know she's in my head?" Zack's eyes widened and he stilled, pushed fully off the ground and gazing over at his bewildered friend. "Are _you_ in my head?" Sephiroth raised an elegant hand to forestall any further questions.

"I am not in your head," he replied calmly. "I would fear still more for my sanity if I were." The shot of wry humor nearly made Zack drop himself to the ground. As it was, he locked his arms into position before he dropped. The faintest twitch of lips upwards was the only response to his reaction.

"As for the woman..." he humor vanished from that smooth baritone voice, and Sephiroth's eyes opened again to slits of green through jet black lashes, face once more taking on a statue like expression of blankness.

"She is Jenova," he murmured, his voice laden with some burden that Zack could not place. Then he gave up trying to exercise and flopped to the cold ground, sitting up to speak to the reclining general from a short distance.

"Your mom Jenova?" he asked carefully, and Sephiroth nodded, very very slowly, but with something in his narrowed eyes that tipped Zack off that something was wrong. He swallowed, and actually managed to make his next question soft, and half-gentle, though he wasn't sure how he would react to the answer.

"Was... was that monster in the reactor..."

"Yes," Sephiroth answered, with a note of utter despair and resignation coloring his voice. Zack closed his eyes in sorrow, and nodded slowly, attempting to accept that, then scowled, and snapped his eyes open again.

"Bull shit!" he cried, so suddenly that Sephiroth actually bolted to his feet, eyes wide and startled. Zack ignored the startled move in preference of putting his hands on his hips, in his seated position, his back straightening and gaze leveling at his superior. "No fucking way is that your mom. It didn't even _have_ a vagina! I looked!"

Sephiroth's eyes got wider than Zack had ever seen them, and his lips twitched furiously at the corners, flashing in amusement, but Zack didn't stop, extending a single finger to scold the man.

"Besides, you're, like, _manly_, and human and stuff! And isn't that chick supposed to be some relic of an ancient civilization or something? No way in hell did that thing give birth to you!"

"But," Sephiroth's smooth voice interrupted, intending to correct Zack's statements even as he sank back to the floor, but Zack's scolding hand flattened into a flat, physical denial.

"No. Your opinions are no longer being accepted in this matter. It's not your mom. The end! Time to move along! Even if she was, who cares? You're Sephiroth, and what you are has _nothing_ to do with who your mother is! I mean, look at Angeal! He and his mom are... were... nothing alike..." Zack's statement lost a little momentum there as both men felt the pull of dark memories on them, but it appeared to serve its purpose. As the grief of loss weighed down on Sephiroth again, the strange, inhuman blankness that had slowly been encroaching on his amused gaze was replaced with a sorrowful look, and a careful shake of his head.

"I agree that Jenova and I are not the same, but I think you are mistaken about Angeal. He and his mother were very similar, Zackary. Consider it a moment." Zack sat blankly for a while, his mind feeling as frozen as the rest of him, but...

Yes, he decided after a while. Much though he hated to say so, Angeal and his mother were very much alike. Both of them had a tortuously warped sense of responsibility—both guilt-ridden from events out of their control—and both eventually running away from it. He bowed his head a little, feeing an old, sick rage at his mentor well up in him at the memory of what it had felt like to cut through... He refused to finish that thought, and set his mouth in a determined scowl.

"Reno then. His mom was a schizophrenic drunk, apparently. He's a weirdo, but he's not Schizophrenic or drunk. Most of the time. Or... Or Kunsel! His mom's a religious fanatic! Convinced Gaia's end is approaching! Even if that thing were your mom, Seph, that doesn't have to define who you are!"

Sephiroth went silent for a long moment, then sighed, eyes flickering slightly. With a soft shake of his head he lowered himself back to the ground, and Zack thought that, somehow, he looked weaker than he had the day before, with the fresh pink scars on his arm and torso. Leaner too, for one reason or another. Sephiroth lay on his side, eyes closed once more in what _had_ to be a parody of peace, then glanced briefly up to Zack.

"...You will freeze," Sephiroth proclaimed after a moment of watching his former second stand shivering, his entire body starting to go numb. Zack started to protest, then Sephiroth lifted one arm, and beckoned him down. The gesture was so bizarre and unexpected that they both froze in that arrangement for a while before Zack cleared his throat.

"Seriously?" he asked quietly.

"If I cannot be normal," Sephiroth said with something that looked suspiciously like amusement, "we may as well make use of it." The usage of the word 'we' was all the encouragement Zack needed to drop to the floor, snuggling close with his back to Sephiroth's chest and his hands on the long, pale arms now encircling him. He would have been lying to say it wasn't more than awkward, and that he didn't wish for all the world that it was him holding Aerith rather than being held by Sephiroth, but it was warm, and it had been _offered_ which was such a vast improvement in the other man's attitude towards him that Zack almost knew where he stood again. With a contented sigh, he curled his frigid feet a little closer, carefully placing his ice-cold toes against Sephiroth's finely-haired legs, drawing warmth even from there, and pulling another soft gasp of discomfort from Sephiroth before sliding off into sleep, too worn out to care about social norms at the moment.

The woman briefly yelped at him but it was cut off as he felt her attention turn elsewhere. A slow frustrated yowl escaped her, and Zack felt a strong hand land on his shoulder, looking over to see a dream of Sephiroth as he had been standing by his side.

His silver hair was blazing in an unseen light source, set off by the sheer blackness of his long jacket, powerful look accentuated by the heavy, solid pauldrons on his shoulders and the gleaming length of his sword beside him. The silver warrior was utterly calm and composed, as though his best friends had never abandoned him to die, and he had never lost his lover, and had never gone mad. The woman vanished, and Zack vanished back into the normal undertones of sleep, but not quite before swearing that, one way or another, he _would_ get his Sephiroth back.


	12. Between the Emotion and the Response

Chapter Twelve

There were voices when Zack woke up, which was weird. No one ever talked in front of him in the hellish lab except to order him around or, that one time with Hojo, to rant, but this... this sounded like a calm discussion. A _conversation_ in fact. That was both welcome and bizarre. Zack didn't dare move.

"Holy shit, they're _cuddling_ this morning. That's just gross." Said voice number one, which was deep, and guttural, and ugly.

"Shut up," said voice number two. "You wanna wake the fuckers up? Cast the fucking fire so we can get the hell out of this room before the sedative wears off the freak." Zack tensed at the words, feeling Sephiroth's arms wrapped limply about him. A strange tingling sensation was spreading across his skin. When he heard voice number two move over to join voice number one behind them, Zack cracked open the eye closest to the floor and glanced down at himself only to see the cheerful peppermint green of a potion shining on his skin. He appeared to have been pretty liberally doused, which was strange, because the effects of potion on skin was next to nothing. Even he knew that.

The air shifted behind him, and he almost physically felt the click in the atmosphere as a materia was activated, like the world was popping it's ears. The heat of the fire spell was borderline painful, but to his surprise did no damage. Sephiroth didn't so much as twitch behind him, so he guessed the other man must not have been injured by the spell either. However... he risked one more glance down, and saw the geostigma that had stained his arm wither away as fire spread over the potion like oil before being extinguished. He almost gaped at the stubborn substance's removal, but remembered in time he was supposed to be asleep and forced himself limp once more.

"Fuckin' homos," growled voice number one. "Dunno why Hojo lets 'em stay together."

"You wanna ask 'im?" voice number two asked, stepping directly over Zack and Sephiroth and deliberately stepping on the fine net of silver hair surrounding them. Zack only just bit back a growl.

"You seen that Turk talkin' to him lately?" voice number one asked, and Zack's trepidation vanished in a wave of hope.

"Nasty wutaian bastard?" asked voice number two as he opened the door with a creak. 'Tseng!' thought Zack to himself gleefully, his doubt of the man, instilled by Sephiroth's warning, vanished at once.

"Yeah, that guy." Voice number one said as he followed his apparent friend.

"I wouldn' worry about him." Voice number two said as the door closed. "He won' be makin' trouble much lon...." the rest of the sentence was lost behind the door, and Zack lay frozen in Sephiroth's arms, despite the increase in temperature. Part of him thanked Gaia the guards were gone, because the ruse of sleep had left him completely, and he lay rigid on the white floor, with eyes opened so wide they felt like they had been pinned there. With a moan that was intended to be a snarl, Zack curled up on himself, knowing there was nothing he could do, and wishing that Tseng would have the sense to leave him behind.

Zack was awake when they came for Sephiroth, but continued to pretend he was not. Feigning sleep was something that had come in very handy during his schooling days. Especially once the secretly soft-hearted Angeal had taken over his training. By that point, Sephiroth was starting to wake as well. Zack could hear the breathy sighs of awareness puffing out of him moments before the guards came. They appeared to kick him once before dragging him by the room, judging by the soft grunt from behind him, and the jolt that carried through Seph's body to his own. He didn't watch the guards drag Sephiroth out of the room, but he knew they did. He himself was taken out not much longer. After that, the routine was same old same old, with the new addition of 'ignore crazy brain bitch very very hard' added to his itinerary.

He was tested, tortured, injected, thrown back in cell, stared at by Sephiroth, made one sided conversation, and fell asleep like the dead. "Rinse and repeat," he muttered to himself as he felt his body passing out without his mind's consent. Sephiroth didn't comment. He rarely did when there was black streaming down from his lips and his eyes were rolled back in his head, still suffering the aftershocks of another bout with his own body.

Zack woke up the next morning to the same voices of the same guards, but this time they said nothing of Tseng. Instead, they spoke incessantly of how much Sephiroth looked like a girl, and how just maybe it would be close enough. Zack was ready to kill them both if they tried anything, but they just poured their potion, cast their fire, and left, still bemoaning Hojo's reluctance to give them access to his prized specimen, when the 'damned kid' got to stay with him every night. Zack wasn't entirely sure why he bothered fighting the urge to strangle them.

Sephiroth was dragged out, Zack was dragged out. Starch, press, rinse, repeat. Please read drying instructions on reverse side of Zack Fair. He was startled to realize that he was getting stranger too. He really needed someone to talk to. He just had to figure out how to convey that to his exceptionally anti-social friend. In the end, he never could quite get it into words Sephiroth would understand. In fact, he never got farther in the conversation than Sephiroth's name, because damn the man, he was broken, and he needed Zack to be firm and strong. Zack had always intended to be a hero after all. Unfortunately, even heroes break down sometimes, and by the time Zack realized he was breaking, he was strapped once more to Hojo's table, with his eyes pinned open and his arm being dissected, trying desperately to heal itself as Hojo chuckled lightly, cutting through the muscle each time it attempted to regrow, murmuring his notes to an invisible audience, and speaking to Jenova as if she was beside him. Zack had never seen so much of his own blood, had never thrown up in pain before, and had never begged anyone to spare him.

It was selfish, and unheroic, and cowardly, and Zack Fair did all of it in one session, and was thrown back into the cell with a shattered arm attempting to rebuild itself and a ruptured psyche. He curled up on the floor around his bleeding, ruined arm, and sobbed uncontrollably in great, dry heaves while Sephiroth chuckled in the corner behind silver eyes.

Zack never managed to fall asleep that night. He reacted to nothing, cradling his skin-bare arm to his chest and shuddering in pain and disgust as the flesh slowly regrew itself and muscle attempted to repair. He barely registered the screaming retches of the extraordinarily pained Sephiroth, and didn't move when he heard the man gasping for breath, a harsh gurgle in his lungs. He didn't move when Sephiroth was dragged from the room, and wasn't taken out for his own experiments.

Eventually, he worked up the will to slowly sit up, damaged arm still held close to his chest, finally covered in a film of pink, new skin. He did nothing once he was sitting; only stared blankly at the floor, not really seeing anything. In addition to his lack of caring, his eyes had been too dry during Hojo's experiment, and until his mako blood finished healing his arm, he wouldn't have any strength left to repair his vision. Something was simmering under the surface in that blank gaze, but even he was not sure what. He felt young, and damaged, and like an utter failure. He could almost hear Angeal scoffing at him, as Sephiroth had the night before. Some hero.

When Sephiroth returned, with someone else's blood streaked in his long hair and a distant, blank expression on his face, Zackary Fair snapped, and tackled him against the still closing door. A distant grunt from behind the door implied that whoever was closing it had been standing a little too close, and wasn't ready for the impact of two bodies slamming against the portal. Zack wasn't paying attention. In fact, he was being shoved roughly off the larger body beneath him, thrown halfway across the room before Sephiroth even seemed to realize what had attacked him. Zack crumpled again, gasping for breath, his arm burning, and mind-numbingly dizzy from blood loss. He slumped to his knees and waited for Sephiroth to strike him again, until he got bored of waiting and looked up through furious eyes, watching sparks of dizziness float through his blurred vision. Sephiroth was still standing near the door, but Zack couldn't tell what expression he had on his face.

His breath was coming so heavily that he couldn't speak for a moment, though faint whining sounds escaped him, only adding to his fury that he was actually sounding like the puppy he had been nicknamed for, even in a moment of utter rage. When he finally caught his breath again, after having lost it for no reason, his words came out in a childish shriek.

"Fuck this!" he cried, and it didn't escape him that Sephiroth actually drew back a little, but he turned from him. He didn't want to _see _the silver-haired bastard. "Fuck all of this! I wish I were dead! I wish we were _both_ dead!" His voice cracked, and his arm throbbed, and he didn't give a _crap_. He dug his fingers into his hair, pacing to the wall before whirling, striking the white, unmovable blankness, and leaving a mark of rusty blood on it before pacing to the other side as fast as he could, movements quick and sloppy, his whole body trembling with rage.

"Zack..." the broken voice of his companion addressed him calmly. Zack whirled on him.

"Don't you dare," he snarled, though even to himself he sounded closer to tears than murder. Possibly because he'd started crying at some point. "Don't you _dare_ talk to me. This is your fault! You said so yourself! If it wasn't for you, I'd still be in SOLDIER! I... I'd be a hero! _Spikey_ would still be here." Sephiroth cocked his head, a look of incomprehension crossing his face, and Zack's blood boiled. "CLOUD, you son of a bitch! The sixteen year old you were fucking! Ring a bell?" Sephiroth's head jerked, sending his hair flying about him. Zack sensed a nerve.

"Had you not realized that?" he yelled, and a round of hysterical, winded laughter broke out off him, because it was so far from funny—so far from okay. "You _killed_ him, Seph! I introduced you two because I knew you'd love one another, and you _killed him_! I trusted you, CLOUD trusted you, and you murdered him in cold blood!" Zack laughed again, because what else could he do in the face of the hard, empty look on Sephiroth's face, that was such an obvious cover. The laughter turned to sobs too quickly, and he didn't recover again. He wanted to scream—to blame Sephiroth, and to tell him that it wasn't his fault, at the same time. He wanted the bastard to hurt. He wanted _himself_ to hurt. That, at least, was easy enough.

He dug his fingers into his still damaged arm, tearing in desperation at the un-healed flesh, needing a part of him to bleed—needing his outside to match his inside, which would never heal, which was alone, empty, and bled dry. He ripped at his skin, and fell to his knees, with everything stolen from him, and his entire life over. He wondered if he could kill himself with his own two hands.

Then firm, cool fingers wrapped around his wrists, and drew his hands away from their damaging work, and a fall of silver hair entered his vision as Sephiroth knelt before him, less graceful than he had been before, the impact of his knees on the floor too loud in Zack's misery-clogged ears, and suddenly there was a forehead pressing to his hair, and Sephiroth was speaking to him. Zack couldn't hear him, because he was half-screaming through his sobs, but Sephiroth was speaking, like a light, misty rain dripping onto a conflagration.

Zack struggled against him, and wasn't held tightly enough to restrict his movement, but wasn't released. He pulled Sephiroth's hair and kicked him, and _fought_ against his touch, even bit him fiercely on the shoulder, tasting mako-tinted blood, and ripping at flesh with his teeth, but even as Sephiroth grunted briefly in pain, his rumble of speech didn't stop, and Zack sagged against his chest, the silver warrior's blood running down across his forehead and cheek from the mark high on his shoulder. Sephiroth pulled him closer by his wrists, and Zack instantly clung to the falls of silver he had so recently tried to use to damage his friend, curling around that firm, cool body desperately, sobs trailing off into hiccups and wheezes of sorrow. Sephiroth's hands reluctantly released his wrists to let Zack cling around his neck, and lowered to touch his back.

"Do not injure yourself again," he whispered in Zack's ear, and Zack wasn't sure if it was his hearing warping or Sephiroth's voice catching in misery. "This is my fault, Zackary, you are right," Zack immediately moaned a negative, shaking his head against Sephiroth's broad chest in argument, trying to tell the other man he hadn't meant it, but Sephiroth shushed him before he could begin to apologize with a careful hand rubbing the back of his neck, easing the painful tension he hadn't even noticed.

"This is my fault," Sephiroth asserted, his voice wavering more than ever, "and I will fix it. I w..." The powerful baritone voice cut off in a choke of grief, and Zack stilled against him, because never had the warrior showed misery before, but now his back was shaking with restrained sorrow under his hands, and Zack wasn't sure of what exactly he had said to the silver general, because he had been _so angry_ that he'd had to scream. Never been so angry in his life, in fact. But now, with the taste of blood in his mouth, and the general in his arms, that anger seemed as distant as Angeal's rough grappling, or Cloud's awkward shyness. Zack lifted his head just a little, twisting to catch a glimpse of Sephiroth's face.

The once-general wasn't crying. He'd once confided in Zack that he was unable to do so, but his mouth was pulled back in a grimace of utter sorrow, and his eyes were squeezed shut, his breath shuddering in and out in hissed gasps, and Zack instantly calmed, because that was part of his programming, and always had been. When someone else was hurting, Zack Fair had to be calm. Besides, Sephiroth would hyperventilate if he didn't start breathing like a normal human being. Zack turned away again, pulling Sephiroth still closer, feeling like a child, being held in the larger man's arms, and stunned briefly to silence by the severity of his reaction.

Sephiroth didn't move. The only other times Zack had touched him while he was conscious, Sephiroth had only put up with it for a moment, but now the other man was clinging tightly to his dark-haired friend as though he were a life raft in a stormy sea. It made it feel simpler, to be sitting nearly in the stony general's lap with his heartbeat thundering under pale skin and the scent of pain in the air. It made the ache in Zack's newly damaged arm lessen, and the coiling pool of hate in his center simmer down once more, settling back in it's place rather than forcing itself up through his mouth.

After a few moments of holding his fellow prisoner, Zack started humming. His mouth needed something to do, and frankly, he had no idea what to do with an upset Sephiroth. So out they spewed, his mother's lullabies, wordless and rather badly sung, but solid in his mind, with an undeniable connection to peace. He wasn't sure if that connection would transfer, and Sephiroth's diaphragm continued shoving small, pained sounds out of him as he spasmed slightly in sorrow for a while, but eventually he started to calm. Zack wished his friend could cry as he felt tears on his own cheeks. It burned his eyes, and was generally messy, but fuck if it wasn't satisfying to feel tears run down your cheek. it was like telling the world 'yes, I'm really sad,' and telling yourself 'it will be over soon.' Well, for Zack it was. If Seph could have done it, he probably wouldn't have thought of it that way.

Sephiroth tried to pull away, head turned away in shame, and Zack didn't let him get away with it. The silver warrior was yanked back down into the hug, and Zack frankly didn't care whether their legs were in awkward positions or his foot was falling asleep. He needed the silver warrior close, and he was taking what he needed. That would, at least, keep him from exploding again just now. Sephiroth didn't fight it when Zack pressed the silver warrior's forehead to his chest and bent over it. It must have been an incredibly awkward position for the taller man, with his back stooped sharply to bow his head below Zack's, but he didn't fight. Zack inhaled the scent of his hair, and ran his fingers over the healing bite mark in his shoulder, and felt the pain in his arm and the tear in his soul, and thought 'this is what happens when your team is disorganized, huh, Angeal.'

He released Sephiroth, letting him sit up as though in slow motion, noting the blankness of his expression, and the ever so slight tremble of his lower lip, which he was apparently attempting to stop with will power alone (and judging by the faint indent of the soft flesh, a sharp bite from behind.)

Zackary Fair, captain of the impulsive, master of surprise tactics, and bizarre friendship rituals kissed him. It definitely stopped the trembling, and it certainly put a look on Sephiroth's face. One of pure horror, but a look never the less. Zack laughed so hard he had to pull away, shaking his head, and wiping a hand over his cheek to clear away lingering tears. In his head, he was congratulating himself on a tactic well used. Defenses? Down. Time to launch reason attacks.

"Damn, Seph, you sure know how to make a guy feel wanted." He muttered cheerfully, a real smile still crinkling his eyes. Sephiroth, by this point, was so utterly confused he didn't even respond, hands trailing absently down Zack's back and his eyes glowing ever so slightly, even as they were narrowed in confusion. Zack breathed out, calming his racing heart, and fighting back the last ragged edges of hysteria. Sephiroth tried to pull away again, and was restrained once more by the hands of Zack Fair, this time anchoring him by a firm hold around his waist. Zack tried to decide what to say as quickly as he could, before Sephiroth got tired of this conversation or decided to pull away for good. Zack winced as he realized what he'd told the man, and swallowed.

"Seph," he said, and his voice wasn't quiet by any stretch of the imagination, but there was a note of guilty sureness to it. Sephiroth glanced up at him through dark lashes and Zack caught his breath. The confusion in those eyes hadn't wiped out the sorrow that Zack's words had left there.

"I shouldn't have left you in that basement, should I?" Zack said softly, pulling the hair out of Sephiroth's face and tucking most of it behind his ear. "You told me to go, but I gave up too easy, huh." Sephiroth shook his head.

"I was your commanding officer, and I ordered you to leave. You were completely in the right. The... massacre in Nibelheim is on my head alone." He tried to retreat again, and this time Zack simply head butted him, making the Sephiroth's head snap back briefly before he straightened again, lifting one hand to his forehead and staring at Zack in utter confusion.

"You're a dumb-ass, you know that?" Zack snapped, both out of fondness and frustration. "Are you ever going to stop lying and tell me what really happened?" Sephiroth paused for a long moment before answering, voice raw with honesty.

"You... respected me enough to leave me alone when I asked." His eyes lowered, his hand falling limply to rest on his thighs. "Jenova did not."

"Crazy brain bitch... talked to you too?" Zack murmured, trying to be as unobtrusive with his words as possible. It was more than Seph had spoken to him in.... well, he wasn't sure how long, but a long time. The wearied man nodded slowly, and Zack watched a shiver travel through him, starting at his shoulders and moving down.

"For days," he agreed. "By the time I realized what was happening... by the time I realized I was not myself..." Sephiroth broke off, his head bowing once more, and Zack watched him clench his fists so tightly the scent of blood touched the air. Zack didn't push. Sephiroth would get around to it.

"By the time," Sephiroth started again, drawing in a deep breath to steady himself and withdrawing behind his normal, blank-faced general's mask, "I realized what she had done to me, Cloud was dying on my sword," his voice choked slightly, "and begging me to stop." Zack's stomach twisted at the words, but he forced down the rage that rose in him at the thought of Cloud, pinned like a butterfly on masamune's blade. Sephiroth was less successful, and stumbled to the room's small toilet to heave into the bowl. Zack didn't watch his older friend worship the porcelain god. Instead he closed his eyes, working through the memories of his time in Nibelheim.

He remembered Sephiroth's horror when Genesis told him the truth—remembered him turning the red general away, condemning him to a slow death. He could still see the general's mad eyes as he screamed at Zack to leave him in peace, so torn apart by his own origins that he could not accept even his only friend's comfort. He had returned to the village cowed, only to find Cloud waiting anxiously for him.

_'Zack?' _Gods, that voice was so painfully familiar, so wounded and strong at the same moment. _'Zack, what happened? What did he say?' _Zack whimpered softly, curling in on himself, the sound of Sephiroth being sick filling the room, but so distant from his consciousness it barely registered.

_'Zack?' Cloud called tentatively. He did everything more carefully in his hometown. Even speak. He had been so painfully embarrassed walking through the little place he'd refused to remove his mask and greet his friends. Zack didn't know what to say. How could he tell that beautiful, damaged boy that his lover wouldn't listen—wouldn't even budge from his self imposed exile. In the end, he hadn't needed to speak. Cloud had understood his silence more thoroughly than he would have any words, and he had pulled Zack into a desperate hug. Zack had thanked his lucky stars that he had met Cloud on that horrible mission in Modeoheim. Without him, Sephiroth's refusal to speak would have been... unbearable._

_ That night they had stayed up, talking with one another, making wonderful, ludicrous plans to drag their reclusive friend away from his pain. The day after they had filled out paperwork together, though all of it had been Zack's, still discussing how to save Sephiroth. The day after that, Cloud had disappeared for the better part of a day to his mother's house, promising to bring Zack next time, and delivering to him beautiful, decadent chocolates his mother had sent for them to share. Zack had eaten most of them, laughing with Cloud all the while, and missing his own parents deeply._

And the day after that, Nibelheim had burned. Zack pulled himself from memory before allowing that last, horrific day of freedom to overwhelm him, and looked up to Sephiroth, who was still bent double, and walked over as though he were in a dream. With trembling hands, he reached towards Sephiroth's neck, and made his decision.

Sephiroth didn't even register the touch as Zack pulled his hair back out of his face to keep it out of his way. When he knelt next to him and offered support, Sephiroth accepted it without thought, and when the convulsive heaving finally stopped, he collapsed in Zack's arms, not weakened as far as he had been before, but emotionally torn. Zack gathered him close, stroking long pale hair carefully back form his face and smoothing it through his hands.

"It wasn't your fault," Zack told him firmly, not allowing his heart to break for the man. "It wasn't your fault, Sephiroth." It didn't matter if Sephiroth didn't believe him. Zack believed himself. He could once more trust his best friend, in all ways, despite the madness that often overwhelmed him. They would find a way to stop that—they would find a way to be free of Hojo, and, somehow, they would find a way to stop Jenova. If only they could have saved Cloud as well. Zack swallowed and bowed his head once more, pulling Sephiroth still closer.

"It's going to be okay. You and I are going to be okay."


	13. Those Who Have Crossed

**A/N: Hey, everybody! Glad to see you're all still here. I can't tell you how exciting it is for me to look at the number of reviews, hits, and visitors on this fic! You guys are absolute inspiration on a stick.**

**My apologies that the chapters are taking longer to come out now. I'm still working on the original novel I started in November, and I've only been doing a thousand words a day on each! I hope you all forgive me.**

**A special thanks to Fetherhd, SarissaDiablo, and the mysterious Clolot for their awesome reviews. SUPER special thanks to the anonymous Shana, who left me the best review of my life. I couldn't dedicate this one to you, Shana, but the next chapter is yours. Thanks for giving me enough confidence to really make some difficult moves with Sephiroth next chapter! Hope you won't be disappointed.**

**As always, many thanks to Rakuengaki for being my muse and beta! I don't know what I'd do without you love. Without further ado, ONWARDS! I DO NOT OWN FINAL FANTASY! ENJOY THE CHAPTER and remember, the more reviews you leave, the longer and more interesting the chapters will be. Thank you all for being so awesome and supportive!**

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Chapter Thirteen—Those Who Have Crossed

The slums were always dark. There were areas that took on a parody of brightness, with street lamps that still nearly worked and neon lights brightening the thick air, advertising booze or tobacco. Those were the parts of the world that looked the least dangerous to the fools from above the plate and were the worst for the people who lived there. Where you could find booze, you could find guns to protect against thieves. Anyone who had ever lived there would skirt those brighter areas to avoid getting caught in the crossfire.

Most of them didn't distinguish between night and day either. The slums were always alive with people, no two individuals choosing the same sleep schedule (if they chose to sleep at all) since there was no sun to measure by. Day and night made no perceptible difference to the filth-ridden streets. Urchins would crawl in the day as easily as in the night. Whores walked the streets when they were broke, regardless of the time. There was no reason not to.

A long drag was taken on a smoking cigarette, which was dangerous to hold in the poorer parts of the already poor area. Never knew who would jump you to steal it. Another slobbering bum of a man propositioned the figure and got a kick in the nads for it, delivered as nonchalantly as some people would deliver a polite denial. As the fifth man in half as many hours stumbled away squeaking sadly and cupping himself, the figure slumped lazily back against the wall, placing the cigarette back between smirking, satisfied lips.

"Reno?" called an effeminate voice down the street. The figure turned, and watched the young girl approach at a gentle trot, gleaming like an angel in front of the backdrop of sullenly dark streets. Reno stubbed out his cigarette on the nearest wall and turned to face the woman, tucking the remains of his indulgence behind one ear.

"Hey, Aerith," he drawled, watching the slim young girl approach with keen, clever eyes. It was hard for him to believe some times that she'd grown up in the same slums he had. She was his polar opposite. Bright, cheerful, and clean-cut. Except for right now, when she was bustling towards him with an expression of fear on her young, admittedly attractive face.

"Reno, where have you all been?" she asked once she was close enough not to have the whole town over hear. It was supposed to be a secret that they watched over her, but Reno doubted if anyone had ever kept a secret from the young Cetra girl for long. She was just too damn quick, and too easy to trust. He slouched a little at the tone in her voice, honestly more worried than annoyed. Trust the half-psychic girl to know something was wrong. Reno swallowed back the sick feeling rising in his throat. He knew someone had to tell Aerith, because... well, someone just had to tell her. He'd been hoping it would be Mary or Koda. They were better at that tact thing. Perceptive as ever, Aerith glanced around them at the rather crowded streets and glanced over in the direction of her mother's small house in open invitation. Reno turned to lead the way, feeling Aerith at his back and unworried by the presence. He'd learned to appreciate everyone who didn't try to kill him in the two years since Zack vanished.

It was a bit of a hike to the small, well-kept house on the edges of sector five, but they remained silent for the entire journey, save for Aerith, who spoke not to Reno but to her less than savory neighbors. For the last five minutes of their journey they came across not another soul. It was a mystery to Reno why the little house they came across wasn't considered a wonder of their world. If he'd found it when he was still living as a slum rat he'd have dug his way in between the flowers and tried to blend in. He had traveled enough now to have seen the most exquisite gardens available, and none of them would ever compare in his mind to the little flower garden adorning the front and sides of that small but lovely house. Aerith opened the door for him, key grating in the lock. The house was as dark as the rest of the slums, and Aerith lit a candle as they entered. Reno was silently glad that her mother wasn't home. He didn't much care for mothers.

Aerith closed the door behind them and set her nearly empty basket of flowers on her bare and well-used wooden table, empty save for a simple but beautiful vase (a gift from Zack, she'd said with a smile, so that she could always have flowers with her.) Reno remained standing in the corner beside the door. Old habits died hard, and if anyone came through that door, he wanted a crack at them before they got their bearings. He'd learned the hard way not to stand in front of the door, and he never sat down on the job anymore. not even when guarding Aerith. Not that he'd done that in a month. Frankly, the Turks were lucky she hadn't been kidnapped in that interval. He almost laughed aloud at the thought of the Turks and luck being mentioned in the same sentence, but Aerith was watching him with an expectant, worried expression, and he wasn't about to freak her out by bursting into hysterical laughter. Well, not yet anyhow. He wasn't sure he'd be able to tell her exactly what was happening without laughing or crying. And he didn't cry. Hadn't in years. He wasn't about to change that in front of the beautiful woman who'd helped him and his own keep their hopes up through the past two years.

Aerith prided herself on her patience, but she cleared her throat at Reno right then and there, crossing her arms to hide her nerves. It didn't fool the Turk. He was trained to read people, and the fear was written in her eyes like a book. He hated to prove her right. Nervous fingers pulled the cigarette from behind his ear and twiddled it between his fingers as he tried to word the most recent horrors.

"Reno," she said softly, "Tell me we didn't loose someone else." Reno snapped his cigarette in half with a twitch, and lowered the pieces to stuff them in his pocket, eyes lowered. Aerith had taken the loss of Cirque almost as hard as Leo had, and she had been his partner; had died in his arms with words on her lips that none of them would ever hear spoken.

"No," he said softly, and it startled even him to hear his own voice sounding so raw. "Not that way, at least." He drew in a deep breath, and decided there was no easy way to say it to her. "Tseng's... out of commission. In fact, he's straight up out of it, yo." He winced slightly at the too-often used grammar tick and the vagueness of his pronouncement. Aerith was only looking more frightened. He shifted, scowling a little as his brows drew together., Just had to be too damn fucking hard to say, didn't it. He'd been able to tell Kunsel, but that was because the Soldier had seen worse himself—had understood implicitly what it implied, and what Reno feared, and he hadn't needed to explain, but he had to explain to this relatively innocent girl he and his own had adopted into their protection, even as they were spread so thin. Her lips were pressed in a thin line now and her eyes narrowed, and Reno had no doubt that it was not only in fear, but also anger towards him for not being able to spit it out.

"Sorry, sis," he muttered, knowing he was already forgiven but feeling useless and old in the face of all that had occurred. Gods it was days like these he missed Zack most. The first would have known how to tell her without making it sound hopeless and cold. Hell, Zack probably would have stopped in in the first place.

"Tseng... Was put back on active duty." He started, crossing his arms over his chest defensively, much as Aerith had done moments before, and squeezing himself a little. "He got hurt pretty badly. They... Aren't sure if he'll wake up." The dead silence that followed that proclamation made his stomach drop, and he looked over to find Aerith with her face buried in her hands, but not crying.

"How long?" She asked, her voice slightly choked, but not broken. Not yet, anyway, Reno thought to himself.

"Since being demoted? Four weeks. It's three now since he got...Injured, yo." Aerith didn't so much as twitch, so Reno kept talking. It was, after all, what he did best. "It was a fuckin' stupid mission." He winced at the curse but didn't bother apologizing. It was part of who he was, and Aerith knew that. And he was busy—so busy he often had difficulties remembering which parts of himself had always been there. He couldn't postulate freely in the Shinra compound. Who better than a Turk to know that the walls have ears, after all. Truth be told, he'd get worse than demoted if the board ever found out he was speaking freely to Aerith about what was going on in the company, but he had stopped caring what his real bosses had to say some time ago. Probably when they stopped caring if he came back alive.

That wasn't entirely fair, he supposed. Not all the higher ups were useless. For example, to everyone's surprise, Rufus and Lazard appeared to have made a deal with one another with the company falling down about their ears. He'd been surprised the first time Lazard encouraged his SOLDIERs to volunteer as armed guards for inappropriate Turk missions, and even more surprised when they did. He thought it probably had something to do with the current commander of the soldier forces, Arlen. The man apparently had a soft spot for the Turk organization. Lazard technically didn't have the authority to assign SOLDIERs to assist in their missions, since both Soldier and the Turks were technically under Heidegger's control, but an unspoken truce had sprung up between the two organizations, and without even realizing it, they began to behave almost as their chosen leaders did. As Rufus and Lazard danced about each other, both protecting and attacking one another, each one uncertain what to make of their new half brother, so the organizations sized each other up and bailed each other out.

But none of that was helpful, he realized as he came back to the small, dimly lit room with the miserable girl now peering at him through her fingers curiously, and he realized he'd lapsed inappropriately into silence. It was weird for him, but he'd been distracted recently. Probably had to do with a lack of sleep and an overdose of cigarettes. He'd bought three packs the day before, and had just snapped his last of the deliciously addictive sticks in half in stress. Pity, too, because he could really have used it then. As Rude was fond of muttering when he was annoyed, Reno had an addictive personality in more ways than one. He settled for starting to chew at his fingernails.

"Sorry," he muttered around a nail, "Forgot where I was." Aerith was watching his teeth work at the the already short nails with barely concealed disapproval.

"The mission." She prompted. Reno almost spat a nail on her floor but caught himself and swallowed instead. Not the most attractive of habits he supposed, but better than dissolving into a useless wreck on Aerith's floor.

"Did I mention it was a cluster-fuck?" he queried in ill-concealed rage. Aerith nodded a little and he noted the resignation in her eyes with a twist in his gut and forced himself to calm down. He let out a long breath, bit his first finger's nail down to the quick, and licked his lips once, tasting the gritty oil and mako tinted dirt of the slums on his skin and taking a strange comfort in its familiarity.

Reno flicked the lock on the door, which wouldn't do much to slow down anyone really intent on getting inside the house, but would have to do for now. He was worn to an absolute nub, and was frankly unlikely to be much use anyhow. Aerith instantly slid back a little, making room for Reno to sit next to her and turning her chair to face him completely. He instantly walked over and slumped forward in the seat left vacant for him, facing her without meeting that too-knowing gaze.

"Just lettin' you know, I have no fuckin' idea how ta say this, yo." he groused, trying to remember what he'd told Kunsel. He had a feeling the bare minimum facts wouldn't satisfy Aerith though.

"Start broadly," Aerith ordered in her powerful older sister voice, and Reno saw her hands clench in her lap out of his peripheral vision. "Tseng is unconscious, so who's running the Turks?" Reno had to smile with a mixture of bitterness and pride at the question.

"Prez wanted us to belong solely to Heidegger," he sighed, and was pleased to hear Aerith's squeak of outrage at the very idea of it. Tseng had apparently been speaking to the girl about the arrangements of their organization. It was strange how naturally she had fit into their group. She seemed natural everywhere, in fact. "Rufus changed his mind."

"Changed his mind?" Aerith repeated, sounding skeptical. Reno snickered a little and shook his head.

"He wouldn't tell us how, but I've heard something about a previously unheard of screaming match. Frankly, I'm sorry I missed it." He was sorry he'd missed it. He'd been in medical waiting to hear if Tseng would live, with Rude one one side of him, left arm in a sling, and Cissnei holding Leo to his other side, comforting the man who had so recently lost his partner of four years.

"So if he's heading the Turks," she muttered, frowning, "who on earth took over vice presidency?" Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Do not tell me that boy is doing both jobs. Even he would implode."

"He's seventeen you know," Reno scolded her lightly. "He's hardly a kid anymore. His aide took over the vice presidency for now. He's a kinda creepy guy. You'd probably like him. And you know you don't have to sound so skeptical about it, Aer. He's basically been learning how to do the job ever since..." He trailed off, remembering who he was speaking to and ducking his chin a little in a rarely shown sign of remorse, his eyes darting to the side of the room.

"Ever since Zack disappeared." Aerith provided kindly, refusing as ever to behave as though she were grieved by his loss. She had made it perfectly clear to everyone within a ten mile radius of her that she considered Zack to be alive somewhere. In fact, as ever, something flashed in her eyes at the mention of her missing lover, which was a strange combination of pride, longing, and confidence.

Then to Reno's surprise she paled dramatically and lifted a hand to her mouth, which had parted suddenly into a silent and horrified 'oh' of realization. He instantly looked up at her, catching the full impact of her uncanny bright green eyes and sliding out of his chair to kneel before her, placing one hand instantly on the side of her neck, feeling the pulse racing under her skin.

"Aerith?" he called, "Sis? What is it, yo?" Aerith shook her head slowly and looked down at Reno with wide eyes.

"Reno," she whispered, "tell me Tseng hadn't been negotiating with Hojo recently." Reno frowned slightly, sitting back on his heels now that he was assured the pretty flower girl wasn't going into shock. He'd been distracted... basically for the past year. Missions were blurring together in his head. He'd had his ass saved by so many of Lazard's Soldier's working overtime he could barely remember all of their names, but he racked his much-abused memory for that information.

"I think... he had been talking to the president about him... Took a trip out to one of the labs around Nibelheim." The stiffening of the girl's body posture did not go unnoticed, and she took Reno's face in both hands.

"Don't follow up," she whispered, and Reno was startled to see guilty tears falling down her cheeks. "Whatever he was doing, leave it in peace, Reno." Reno opened his mouth to argue, but was instantly caught up in a fierce and protective hug from above and knew he couldn't.

"Even if I wanted to," Reno muttered, "which I don't, because Dr. Creepy weirds the fuck out of me, but even if I wanted to, Tseng cut me out of the loop ages ago. I don't think he told anyone what he was tryin' to get the professor to do." His eyes narrowed a little at the obvious relief that ran through Aerith, and he started to wonder if Tseng's trouble might not have befallen him thanks to randomly mako-enhanced monsters as the medical team had so haphazardly ruled.

Aerith pulled herself together admirably quickly, releasing him from the fierce and awkward hold to pat his hair a couple times, an unusual motherly gesture that had Reno blushing and moving quickly back to his chair, another of his fingers raised to chapped lips to have its nail chewed on. Aerith sniffled and wiped a hand across her face, and Reno found that curious as he was he couldn't bring himself to ask her what exactly she had meant about Hojo. He supposed she had reason enough to doubt the scientist, having been in one of his less-than-well-reputed labs herself when she was a girl. It was not an incident she had ever spoken of to anyone that he was aware of, but he was a Turk. One learned these things.

"You said he's out of it," Aerith started firmly, snapping Reno from his speculations. "What exactly did you mean by that, Reno?" He felt himself withdraw a little, thinking of how to put it, and was startled to find a slightly sore spot on his head. He looked up in surprise past a wafting fountain of flower petals to find that Aerith had whacked him over the head with her basket for one reason or another, and lifted a hand to his head, expression caught between laughter and bewilderment.

"I saw you just then. Don't do that with me." She scolded, placing her now entirely empty basket back on the table and pulling a stem out of Reno's outlandish bangs. He still wasn't sure what the hell to say to that and so gaped at her in a continuation of his stunned confusion, looking no doubt like a landed fish. Her soft chuckle roused him somewhat, and he payed proper attention to her next words.

"I grew up here, Reno, in these slums." She reminded not unkindly, and he closed his mouth to look her over once with solemn eyes. She certainly had a soft figure, and was quite easy on the eyes, but there was hardness behind it. Those delicate looking hands had a steel frame inside, and her arms may have looked frail but they held whipcord muscle beneath. She was a slummer alright, though an unusual one.

"Talk straight with me," she ordered him, voice brooking no room for argument though it still seemed as warm as the sun he was still a stranger to. Reno obeyed without even considering any alternatives.

"He's inna coma, yo," he informed blankly, and the words seemed to cover his world in a cotton blanket, as though saying it made it true. "In a coma," he repeated, just to make sure he'd said the right phrase. He bit his nail until he tasted blood and Aerith pulled his hand from his lips and steered him towards the kitchen, foisting a cup of warm, over-sweet tea into his hands, and through the fog of unreal-ness that had settled over his world, it touched him a little that she had remembered how he liked his tea over the three months he had been gone.

Aerith took a long drink of the steaming beverage, eyes lowered to the cup and carefully not looking at Reno for the moment. He recognized the look of someone processing.

"How's Leo doing?" She queried, changing the subject to a matter no less sensitive and painful. Nearly half a year after Cirque's death, it still felt like an open wound to discuss her.

"He's holdin' out," Reno muttered. "Still a damn good Turk. Tseng wanted to take him off active duty, but..." he broke off in his speech, throat closing off at the mention of the man who saved him from the hell-hole he'd grown up in, and whom he hadn't be able to save.

"You need every able body," Aerith completed calmly. "I understand." Silence descended on them, and Reno took a long swig of over-sweet tea, trying not to close his eyes, knowing he would see the normally stoic Leo as he'd found him that night, with Cirque clutched to his chest desperately, screaming for them to hurry up, soaked in her blood. She'd been gone long before he'd entered the building, and the blood on Leo's mouth had been proof enough that he'd tried to bring her back. The darkness never left his eyes after that night.

"He'll come back, you know." Aerith said softly, and Reno winced at the usual script she ran through every time he was there and looked up to her. She had her face turned to the dim, empty window with a pensive expression. "He won't come back whole, but he'll come back, Reno." Reno drained his tea, catching a glimpse of his own eyes reflecting a dull green and knowing they must be glowing slightly. You didn't grow up in the slums without ingesting a lot of Mako.

"Yeah, Aer." He sighed with less enthusiasm than usual. "He'll come back." And by the time he gets back, he thought to himself, I really hope there's something left of the rest of us. Somewhere along the way his firm belief that Zack lived had changed in nature. He no longer expected the man to burst in and save them from the monster that Shinra had become for all the followers of the Generals, and the Turks who had apparently relied on them without ever knowing. Now he almost expected for Zack to return broken as the rest of them and in need of help. And he was damned certain he wouldn't be able to help him. He now waited for Zack to return with a leaden determination and a sickness in his stomach. Aerith's cool hand on his cheek brought him out of his reverie.

"It will be alright," she asserted. "Tseng will wake up, and Zack will come home, and maybe he'll know where the General is." Reno was shaking his head even before she finished speaking.

"Even if they did," he muttered, voice sliding lazily from his lips, "it ain't gunna fix it all, babe." Aerith's hand stilled on his face like iron. "Nothin's gunna bring back our dead, Sis." He pulled away from her touch for the first time since meeting the woman and turned to face the outside, watching a gang of ragged children run past in the distance and feeling his legs twitch in response, some physical part of him wishing he were out there again, worrying only for his own survival.

It was too late now, though, he knew. The feeling of slight doom in the part of him that had once been free was only re-enforced by the strong arms that wrapped around his shoulders from the woman behind him, and the feel of her head touching the nape of his neck.

He had tied himself down by caring about these people, and now he was paying the price by loosing them. He almost burst into laughter again watching the steam rise from one of the street vents, remembering that that was the very reason he'd avoided friends on the streets. He should have known better than too expect that to change above the plate. Since when had his life been anything but crap, after all. He allowed his head to bow, and mentally slapped himself for allowing depression to seep through. Aerith didn't move from behind him, and he closed his eyes, imagining the things he still loved in life—seeing the faint smile on Rude's lips, or bashing in the head of some bastard who deserved it, or the sound of Cissnei's laughter when they were lucky enough to hear it.

And then he remembered how Cirque and Leo flirted with each other, and the way Rufus had once followed Tseng around the building like a duckling, and the wild energy brought to their office by the young Zack Fair, and no matter how many thing he loved, and how much things improved from here, Reno knew he would always miss it.

He stayed with Aerith till morning, and neither of them spoke another word about Tseng or Zack or Cirque or the many they'd lost and the few they'd saved, though Reno did allow her to inquire as to whether he and Kunsel were still dating (to which his answer was 'we were dating?' which also meant 'yes.') They spoke of the garden, and of the fact that Aerith still would not live in Shinra, and Reno even caught himself discussing the drapes with her at one point, though he quickly put an end to that.

Reno left in the morning without telling her that he could have saved Tseng, and hadn't been able to. Aerith let him leave without telling him that she knew Zack and Sephiroth were together, and that it was her fault Tseng had gotten to close. Reno pressed gil into the hands of every young prostitute he came across on his walk back to Shinra without looking at them, almost automatically. When he arrived back at headquarters, he went to check on Tseng first, and found him, unsurprisingly, still stuffed full of tubes and barely recognizable, and spent three minutes standing in the doorway to his room, pressed against the door jam to stay out of the way of the doctors and nurses coming and going and running his eyes over the covered body, mentally superimposing the wounds he remembered from finding him collapsed in a heap and half buried in rubble. He knew Aerith had been planning something with his leader, and also that she had probably been the one to convince him to put himself in harm's way, but he couldn't blame the girl. It wasn't her fault Tseng was an idiot for her.

With a final deep breath, he turned to go back to receive his missions for the day, and hopefully find a pot of coffee he could inhale before he left once more. Two years was a long time, he told himself, and if he had changed it was not that unheard of. He hoped that when Zack returned, he would have enough sense not to destroy what remained of the life that had missed him so fiercely.


	14. Broken Glass

Chapter Fourteen

"Is it an animal?" Zack asked, feet kicking as he sat perched on the bed, Sephiroth leaning over him to check the back of his neck.

"Zackary, I am not playing twenty questions." The rumbling voice replied and Zack grinned in amusement, ignoring the feeling of Sephiroth's fingers digging into his skin. Annoyance was the only weapon Zack still weilded, after all. It may not have been much of a weapon, but he was a master of it.

"So it's a vegetable!" he proclaimed triumphantly as Sephiroth lowered an arm to stop his fidgeting, his powerful hand halting both of Zack's legs mid-swing like a brick wall. Obligingly Zack stopped kicking, trying to hold still for the tall warrior, which went very much against the grain.

"Zackary, hush. This is delicate work." Sephiroth's tone was repressive, and exasperated, but held none of the edge that came with anger, and Zack almost laughed. It was like poking a tiger to try and get attention, but it was absolutely worth it. Besides, after that night they'd come to an understanding, Sephiroth hadn't hurt him again, no matter how utterly obnoxious he had acted. The worst he had gotten since then was attempting to do a back flip off the wall, when he had gone one too many times for the man's patience and gotten caught by the nape of his neck. He _had_ managed the back flip though.

"How about I Spy?" Zack suggested chipperly, almost bursting into laughter at the subsonic growl that escaped Sephiroth at the suggestion. "I spy something white!" Sephiroth's hand instantly left the burning spot at the back of his spine and the man pulled back to look him in the eye, elegant fingers stained too-bright red with Zack's enhanced blood.

"Zackary, we are in a white room. If you wish me to continue attempting to extract this 'fiendish thing' from you, please desist speaking at me."

"I'm talkin' to you, Seph, not speaking at..." he trailed off at the exasperated, stressed look the man gave him and wilted a little. "Sorry. Please continue attempting to extract Hojo's fiendish thing, Seph."

"I'm certain that is not what he called it," Sephiroth reprimanded, but there was a hint of amused inflection that brought the grin instantly back to Zack's face. He caught himself before responding, and firmly reminded himself not to kick his feet as the burning came back with an added kick now that he wasn't distracting himself. Hot blood slid down his back, making his shirt cling wetly to his skin. (He wasn't sure why he'd finally been clothed again, but was grateful that someone had finally decided to give Sephiroth a pair of pants. It made everything less awkward between the two of them, at least for Zack. Sephiroth didn't seem to have a preference.

The burning intensified, and Zack clenched his fists, bare toes curling against the sensation and muscles snapping taut, but he held still, watching the just barely visible ribs under Sephiroth's bare chest move steadily in and out with every breath. He couldn't quite match the rhythm, since Sephiroth had never appeared to need as much oxygen as anyone else Zack had known, and therefore breathed more slowly than Zack could without getting light headed, but matching two breaths to every one of Sephiroth's worked relatively well and gave him something to focus on.

The feeling finally cumulated in a stinging flash of pain that had Zack crying out and jerking away, but Sephiroth pulled back with a small mechanical square held carefully between two fingers, slick with Zack's blood. Zack continued to grimace and cringe a moment longer than shook off the feeling, reaching a hand back to touch the bloody spot at the base of his neck.

"That it?" he asked unnecessarily. Sephiroth gave him a skeptical look and opened his hand to allow Zack a look at the little device. With careful fingers, Zack lifted the blood-stained device and tilted his head to look at it. Sephiroth straightened too his full height, looking with faint disdain at the blood on his fingers, apparently attempting to decide what to do with it before reaching out an elegant hand to wipe it across the white wall. Zack looked up from the device to stare at the markings and laughed.

"You're doing it wrong." he scolded, putting the chip down on the table. He ran a finger over the already healing wound Sephiroth had created on his neck to collect a little of his blood and carefully started scrawling. He nearly ran out of the stuff before he was finished, and wondered how people always managed to write on walls with blood in horror movies. It was not exactly a medium designed for it, and it didn't like staying wet on his fingers long enough to be used. Eventually though, he nodded in pleasure and stood up, backing away from his little artwork.

The blood-drawn smiley face stared cheerfully back. With a grin, Zack turned to Sephiroth, who was studying the image without any expression at all. Then he looked to Zack, and back to the image.

"A startling likeness," he finally decreed. Zack gave a 'hey' of protest and laughed, feeling strangely freed by the removal of one insignificant piece of metal from his body. Sephiroth appeared to relax a little at the sound, and his lips curled into a pleased, slim smile.

As Zack sat back on the hard bed, letting his neck wound fully heal, a smile still fixed to his face and his eyes closed against the blinding whiteness of the room, which had never stopped bothering him. He glanced once at the bright red, and quickly browning, smiley face on the blank wall, and remembered a time when he could wake up to the lively barracks and go outside. He let out a low sigh at the memory of the outdoors. It had been...

"Seph, how long have we been in here again?" he asked without opening his eyes, tracking Sephiroth by the sound of his footfalls as he paced the room.

"Roughly one thousand and seventy five days, at my best estimate." Sephiroth answered blankly, and Zack could hear the beginning quavering notes of nausea in his throat. He held back a frustrated moan, fingers itching to dig out Hojo's eyes. He'd finally gotten Sephiroth to tell him what Hojo did with him all day before he was returned to the room. It wasn't pretty.

"The look on your face implies you are daydreaming of a certain doctor's death." Sephiroth drawled. Zack looked up, startled by the softly playful lilt to the other man's voice. He was not smiling.

"No," said Zack, because he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Yes you are. And so am I. So is everyone who knows him. It isn't difficult to see." He paused.

Zack frowned a little, unnerved by the strange new turn of conversation. Not that daydreaming about killing Hojo was unusual, but to have Sephiroth initiate conversation based upon what Zack was thinking was incredibly unusual. If he wanted to discuss what Zack was feeling, he generally just asked him instead of making a creepily accurate guess.

"I . . . guess." the younger warrior replied, eyebrows creeping upwards.

Sephiroth made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. "Quit lying to me, Fair. It makes me sick." Zack's eyebrows raised further.

"Okay, Seph, that was definitely Jenova talking. Might wanna clamp down on the brain-bitch before we have to fight again." Zack was utterly prepared to, and unfortunately he was certain he could win. Sephiroth had lost weight, and muscle mass over the time they had been together. One finely-sculpted but slim arm raised to the silver general's head as he grimaced, eyes closing.

"My apologies," he grated, as though the words pained him, which knowing Jenova they might have. She had started ignoring Zack almost entirely, and no longer infested his every dream. Sometimes she would make an attempt to draw him in during one of the brief moments of weakness Hojo had forced him into, but she never succeeded. Even with Hojo ripping him apart, Zack wasn't about to let Sephiroth down by giving in to her, and the more he fought her, the less she had been able to hurt him. However, the less she concentrated on him, the harder she had torn at Sephiroth's mind and body.

Sephiroth swallowed hard, still frozen in the middle of the room, and slowly lowered his hand, reminding Zack very much of one of the slow-moving insects of the Gongagan forest waiting for a smaller bug to pass. Zack cracked his sore neck, and watched Sephiroth's head snap to look at him, silvering eyes no longer such a terrible threat as he had once considered them. Jenova wasn't dangerous to him now that Sephiroth's body was weaker. Well, Zack thought with a little self-satisfied smile, now that Seph was weaker and he was stronger.

"Seph, tell me about Banora," he suggested with a hint of an order behind the words. A hairline tension edged into Sephiroth's shoulders, and Zack watched the silver flickering in his eyes as an indicator of which way the battle was turning.

"I have already told you about Banora and Wutai," Sephiroth sighed as the green won out once again. Zack smiled, unable to contain the hint of pride he felt at Sephiroth's resilience, though they both knew his victory would mean the stigma came that much faster.

"Yeah, well, usually gets you to concentrate when you're having a rough time!" Zack crowed, rubbing a hand through his much-longer-than-he-liked-it hair. The spikes reached down past his shoulders now, and it bothered him. As did Hojo's ideas towards cleanliness and hair-care. Just because Sephiroth's hair had an obnoxious tendency to resist tangles didn't mean nobody in the cell could have used a comb.

"What, exactly, leads you to believe I was having a 'rough time,' Zackary?" Sephiroth growled. Anyone else would have thought it was the exact same animosity he had shown moments before, but Zack laughed this time, because he knew Sephiroth better than anyone else alive, and no one could recognize what was the true Sephiroth and what was a psychotic, pissed-off alien bitch better than him. In fact, he doubted if anyone had even tried before. Which led him to wondering, as always, how long Jenova had been active in Sephiroth's life. He had asked once, but at that time not even Sephiroth had the answer.

"Oh, don't be like that, princess," Zack scolded lightly. He watched Sephiroth's lips incredulously mouth the term of address with distaste, his nose wrinkling and almost laughed again. Seph could be so fun when he was in the mood to be. "He must have really overdosed ya if she even stood a chance, Seph." The words were spoken in the same tone as the lighthearted teasing of moments before. Zack had stopped bothering with using gravity in his words almost a full year ago, by Sephiroth's calculation. After a while, even the worst abuses had to become routine, or you'd go crazy. Zack had chosen to make it routine. It hadn't even appeared to be a choice for Sephiroth.

"...He may have been a little heavy handed." Sephiroth admitted with the faintest trace of a wry smile. Zack beamed with pride at the admission. Two years ago, no one would ever have heard Sephiroth come that close to a complaint. Zack had given him a long lecture on the benefits of whining, and while he still hadn't gotten Sephiroth to give _that_ a shot, it had opened the door for him to suggest the less-aggressive tactic of complaining about the things in life that actually sucked.

"Next time tell me when she's fucking with you," Zack scolded. "We've talked about this." Sephiroth only gave him a rather distinct look and shook his head a little, as though he was watching a hopeless case and not his only friend. He resumed pacing with a little less force behind his steps, and Zack settled down to watch him.

There was no doubt in Zack's mind now that they were friends. No one could go through what they had experienced together and not be. Sephiroth had saved his life, and been saved by him in return (gods what a day that had been) and both of them had fallen completely to pieces more than once. But after a while, they had stopped shattering. In fact, there was only one thing that really hurt either of them. Fortunately, Hojo didn't understand it, so he didn't use it often.

Sometimes, he would keep them apart for longer than usual to play his twisted little games. Neither of them cared anymore about the physical pain of his tortures, or the mental stress he attempted to put them under by forcing images of death and destruction upon them, though the first time Zack had been placed in that chair, eyes pinned open, watching Sephiroth kill over and over and over he had screamed until he couldn't anymore. Even those initially horrifying images were boring and trite now. Sephiroth had killed people at Hojo's instruction. Big whoop. Can we move on now?

No, what bothered them was leaving the other alone. The closest either of them had come to madness and death was when they were trapped alone and isolated. It was harder to ignore the voices when alone (yes, voices. Zack remembered Jenova's impeccable impersonation of Angeal with a grimace) and harder to keep despair at bay. Sephiroth had once returned after what he estimated at five days under Hojo's kind care (when he had, apparently, been all but autopsied in an attempt to find out what was keeping the Jenova cells from 'integrating with his system,' as he had so elegantly put it) to find Zack clawing desperately at the door, covered in slim scars from when he had clawed at his own skin instead. Zack ran a finger over the small lines of the faded scars on his wrists, remembering what it felt like to tear the healing skin open over and over, but not why he had done it. He had been far from coherent at the time, and had clung to Sephiroth for dear life when he had returned, sobbing in pain and fear, trying to bury the loneliness that had smothered him in Sephiroth's shoulder.

At some point, they had become more than friends. They were utterly dependent on each other. Sephiroth had once identified them as symbiotes rather than mere friends. Zack still had no idea whether it had been a joke. He had laughed at the time, but he hadn't argued after Sephiroth defined it for him (with all the saintly patience of a fourth-grade teacher who had just been asked what Wutai was for the tenth time.) It sounded about right to him.

Zack hadn't stopped missing everything. He longed for Aerith's gentle touch every time he cried softly to himself. Sephiroth was a good friend, and meant well, but he could never match the feel of delicate, soft hands wrapping around him from behind. He loved Sephiroth, but he had been _in love_ with Aerith. He had only stopped asking Sephiroth if she was still waiting for him because the silver general had been too honest with his replies. Zack was choosing to hope that Aerith would have written to him, at least sometimes, and was maybe waiting in her church, surrounded by the impossible flowers she had grown from soil that ought to have been so contaminated it could kill a man.

He wondered to himself, kicking his feet slightly again now that the blood had dried on his back and Sephiroth would not be performing any more computer chip removals for the afternoon (hopefully) if Tseng was still watching over Aerith, eyes just a little too attentive on her, but too staunch and noble to make a move. Zack had always wondered whether that was out of friendship with him or Turk Policy.

He really really hoped they were still together and safe. The men who came in each morning hadn't mentioned him again (and they still hadn't noticed that Zack now woke up the moment they opened the door) though they had at least stopped bothering wondering if Zack and Sephiroth were sleeping together. They had kept wondering right up until they had realized that there would have been no way for the two of them to clean up afterwards, which would leave plenty of visible evidence. Of course, in order for them to understand this, Zack and Sephiroth had to demonstrate.

It had been welcome, and frankly fun, to indulge in that much contact again, but that one time had been more than enough to prove to them both they would never really be lovers. Sephiroth's mind had been so irrevocably drawn to Cloud after the encounter that he had almost broken down in tears (or at least his version of them. His body still tried to cry, even though he was physically unable to. It was an utterly pathetic sight.) They hadn't had sex since, though they still slept curled together. Zack refused to allow himself to feel guilty for the night. It had been helpful in more than one way, both deterring any of the guards for making an attempt less they anger either man and put themselves in harms way, and making every contact less than that seem utterly natural. Sephiroth didn't pull away anymore.

Zack smiled a little again, caught up in memory, and this time Sephiroth noticed. The silver general turned to him with confusion on his face and one hand fluttering briefly to his hip, as though trying to talk him into standing like Zack would if he were the confused one before falling back to his side, too stiff to be called limp.

"You are amused by something," he accused calmly. Zack grinned at him and gave him a thumbs up.

"Good call!" he praised, watching Sephiroth roll his eyes as the compliment and shoot him a long-suffering look. Zack snickered, leaning back against the wall of the room. "Yeah, I'm thinkin' about that guy you de-flowered."

"That was far from amusing." Sephiroth scolded, eyes hardening a little. Zack grinned at him, tilting his head and running a look over the pale, disgruntled face. He adored it that the man couldn't think of the event lightly. It made him feel embarrassingly safe and protected that Sephiroth had risked himself to stop the man from raping him. He himself had been tied down and drugged nearly out of his mind. Otherwise, he wouldn't have needed protecting. As it was, the memory of Sephiroth, exhausted and bloody from another strenuous round of 'protect your drugged-up friend,' tearing from the hold of his guards to physically rip off the man's family jewels always brought a grin to his face. It was so absurdly amazing.

"But Seph," he whined, "That was when I knew you loved me! It was a precious moment in our friendship."

"You are insane," Sephiroth accused fondly. "I've no doubt Jenova only leaves you in peace to spare what sanity she has from your ramblings." Zack gaped, then clapped his hands together.

"You bantered!" he cried happily. "Seph, you just bantered with me! You are the absolute best, you know that?" Sephiroth's jaw dropped a little, leaving him looking utterly flummoxed. Zack jumped off the table with a particularly hard swing of his legs, landing in front of Sephiroth and pulling him into a firm hug, ignoring the little twitches of muscles under the skin that implied Sephiroth would not be able to hold out much longer against the Geostigma's onslaught. 'Banter' had been the subject of Zack's latest lecture on the behavior of lay-people, intended to give Sephiroth some context.

It had been a fascinating journey discovering exactly what went on in Sephiroth's mind. Zack was astounded when he discovered that Sephiroth had to consciously try to stay on top of other people's emotions. His views on expressions and voice inflection were clinical at best, and rather sadly lacking. He had to work hard to stay on top of the basic flow of emotions in a normal conversation, by his own account, and was grateful upon meeting Zack that he was more expressive than most people. Right up until he figured out that people could lie with their emotions.

It had stunned Zack to discover that Sephiroth hadn't known that before they lost Angeal (before I killed Angeal, the down to earth part of him reminded) and Zack had broken the first time. It explained why Sephiroth had never offered him comfort when his smile came so close to falling completely, and why he had been so frustrated and confused when Zack's light joking turned too quickly into grim rage. Zack remembered being horribly frustrated with Sephiroth's questions. He had never seen the confusion in him, and how lost he was, and though it was merely loneliness and self-imposed seclusion. That was why he'd introduced him to Cloud in the first place. He'd hoped that maybe the two recluses could heal each other somehow, and by extension, him as well. For a while, it had worked.

He had never asked Sephiroth why he found it so easy to be with Cloud. At the time, he was too happy to have something like familiar ground to stand on, and gleeful that his two best friends were together. Now it seemed utterly cruel to remind Sephiroth of a happiness he would never be able to have again. The other man was being tortured enough as it was, if not by Hojo's sick, endless experiments, then by his own mind.

And yet, he hadn't given in, and neither had Zack. Shattering was acceptable. They had both gotten incredibly good at piecing each other back together. Zack remembered Angeal scolding him in his youth with a stern look on his fiercely structured face after finding him ensconced in video games instead of training. 'You get good at what you practice, Zackary." He had warned sternly. "Make sure you practice what's important.'

Zack was good at a lot of things now. He could have his flesh pealed away from the bone and smile benignly at the one doing it. He could exercise for such a long time that the man who was supposed to be watching him started having to bring espresso to stay awake while Zack ran or swam or dangled from a bar, outdoing himself every day. He could laugh in the face of a psychotic alien intent on destroying him, along with the rest of the world. He could withdraw so far into his own mind that he didn't come around until the next day, when Sephiroth's desperate whispers would wake him. He had gotten good at withstanding pain. He could read Sephiroth like a book. He could fight until he thought his arms would fall off, and still come out victorious. He had refused to practice brooding, and ignored the urge to practice remembering. He was far from whole, but still in one piece.

As Sephiroth let out a breath of air and held out a hand to him in request for support, Zack knew what kept him holding on just one day more. Sephiroth was practicing as well. Zack took the hand, and supported Sephiroth as the almost nightly convulsions began, and wiped the foam from the side of his mouth as his body rebelled against him. They had become masters, with one another, of endurance, and patience, and understanding. Underneath it all, Zack felt certain, Sephiroth was slowly getting the hang of emotion.

Sephiroth clung to Zack like a drowning man on a lifeboat until the convulsions left him. As ever, they left the taller man ravaged, dangling limply in Zack's sturdy hold and gasping softly for air. Even weak as he was, he struggled to walk with Zack across the room rather than being carried. When they settled down, pulled like magnets to curl around each other, Zack let out a breath. The skin under his hands was cold as a corpse's, and the same color, but he ignored it.

"Seph," he said, breaking the ice around something he had been meaning to say for quite some time. A wearied, cracked hum of question was all he got in reply. Sephiroth's heartbeat was thunder under his ear, his breathing as thin as if he'd been sucking air through a straw.

"...I'm tired of this." Zack said softly into that once-unbelievably powerful chest. Ribs heaved under the skin. Bones from the general's sternum dug into Zack's cheek as he pressed against solid flesh. He felt Sephiroth's breath still for a moment before picking up its ragged pace once more, and knew the General was looking down at him. He looked up into pale, pale green eyes, framed by flecks of the same black geostigma that stained his lips an oil-slick hue. Zack grinned like a Cheshire cat.

"Let's escape soon," he said softly. They held eye contact, and Zack felt something solidify between them in that moment, a resolve hardening in his stomach at the soft hope that spread across Sephioth's face, instantly making him seem younger. Then Sephiroth nodded once, gravely, and Zack knew he was ready. No more words were spoken that night. No more needed to be. Things were in motion.


	15. Here We Go Round

**A/N: Hi! I love you! Here's a chapter that's double normal length! I hope you all still love me when you finish it... As always, HUGE thanks to reviewers! You make it all worthwhile. **

**I don't own Final Fantasy VII**

**Second disclaimer: I do not hate Sephiroth. I love Sephiroth. Don't let this chapter fool you!  
**

Chapter Fifteen—Here We Go Round

Zack would not claw at the door. He was going to sit on the bed and not claw the door, and think about Aerith, or Kunsel, or fucking Nibel wolves. He was not going to claw through the door and rip Hojo to shreds with his own fingers and teeth. It wouldn't help the situation in any way, but it was increasingly tempting.

He hadn't seen Sephiroth in ten days. _Ten_. For all he knew, the man might have been taken from him permanently. He refused to believe it, but after three and a half years of unbearable torture, it had become difficult even for Zack to be optimistic. He clenched his fist, bit his tongue, and thought of Shinra. Then he had to stop being worried to laugh for a minute. Tesng's dryly offered advice to the cadets when asked what to do in the face of being captured had sent Zack into stitches at the time, and was still good for a snicker. Now if only Sephiroth had been there to ask him what was so funny.

The smile fell of Zack's face, leaving him staring worriedly at a white wall, reaching a hand back to trace over the faint stain left by his blood. The shape of a dim, gruesome brown smiley face left from the night they had decided to escape grinned blithely back at him. It had been so nice, listening to the general plan. Sephiroth had obviously been thinking over their options silently for some time. Both of them took intense mental notes on who retrieved them each day, and how heavily armed they were. Much to Zack's annoyance, he'd been caught checking on the two men who came in every morning, and the next day they had brought six armed guards to watch over them while they did their work. At least they were quiet now, he supposed.

But that opportunity was obviously no longer open. So they had moved on. Seph had a guard of at least ten altered troopers with high powered rifles on him at all times, and though it was possible he would survive long enough to take them all out, it was, as he put it, 'unlikely I would be effective afterwards.' So the responsibility of the mission would be Zack's. He had grinned through his nerves, but his hands had shaken. Hojo hadn't bothered assigning him more guards as he grew stronger and less susceptible to Jenova's influence. To him, Zack would always be a secondary, less important experiment. Never mind that for the past five 'save Zack Fair' tests Hojo's twisted mind had created it had been Zack who handled most of the fighting, Sephiroth struggling just to stay atop the fight until Zack was mobile again. The silver general was far from weak by a human standpoint. In fact, it was less that he was much weaker, and more that the monsters he was pitted against and Zack kept getting stronger while Hojo forced him into stagnation with repeated attempts to destroy him.

Zack drummed his fingers on the bed, waiting for the door to open. He was done with this. He was so fucking done with this. He knew he'd only get one shot to escape, but what if this was it? What if he waited too long? What if Sephiroth was never returned to him? He swallowed, licking his lips. He had no idea how big the lab was, or where their weapons were. Or, for that matter, where his boots were. Three and a half years later, they still had not forgiven him for taking one of their guards out with a boot. Zack wanted the damn thing back so he could have it framed.

He shook his head and returned to the problem at hand. Even if he decided he could wait no longer and attacked, how would he find Sephiroth? What if Sephiroth wasn't even in the building anymore, and by being impatient Zack lost his only chance to save them both, and was forced to live out his life having abandoned his best friend. Definitely not an option. He would have to wait.

The door cracked open silently, creating a mote of shade in the white room, and his normal pair of guards came in. Zack watched them approach with a wide, calm smile and calculating eyes. He was visualizing what he was planning to do to them when the time came.

The guard he called Righty he was going to kill outright. No playing around. He would go first, because he was more dangerous, and much more bored with his work. Lefty would be next, of course, too dumb to catch up to the attack in time to stop him. Lefty Zack planned on playing around with. Sephiroth had identified him as one of the guards who had tortured him, and Zack would not forgive that. That fucker was going to die slowly. Zack could almost feel his flesh tear under his hands.

Then would be the scientist. He wasn't nearly as excited about that prospect. The man was an evil bastard, who watched him suffer blankly, but compared to the rest of the evil shits in the place, he was a regular saint. He had never brutalized Zack simply for the fun of it, and every once in a while he made eye contact. Zack almost regretted that he would have to die. He might not be nice, but he hadn't seemed like such a bad guy.

But the two in front of him, approaching slowly with masks over their faces and aggressiveness in their walks... Zack's smile turned predatory, and he reveled in the fact that both guards paused at the look. They were dead meat walking. He wondered if they knew it yet. They glanced at each other, then turned back to Zack. He watched both of them ready their tasers and snickered. That would be _really effective_ on an incredibly enhanced super soldier. They could just keep telling themselves that. Zack stood off the bed, eyes sharp, but willing to be led out of the room one last time.

A shot rang out through the room, and down went Righty, with a hole in his helmet spewing blood. Zack reacted before he even thought to, grabbing Lefty where it hurt and ripping. The high scream that tore from his throat made Zack grin, and he dropped the handful of flesh to the ground, eyes flashing in pleasure at the keening moan of the bleeding man as he writhed on the floor. He whirled to face the door, to find the scientist who always accompanied him standing, gun still drawn and reeking of gunpowder in the doorway. He turned the weapon on Lefty and put him out of his misery. Zack gaped at him, wiping his bloodied hand on his pants and wondering what the hell was going on. He remained tense, eyes fixed on the young man's wide, traumatized gaze, and his hand flexed into a fist.

"Drop the gun," Zack ordered tentatively, brows furrowed in confusion, and really hoping he was obeyed. Any gun good enough to take out a modified trooper in one shot was powerful enough to do him some serious damage. The man did as he asked, tossing it to lie next to Righty's twitching body. His hands were shaking. Zack scowled in confusion and tilted his head, suspecting a trick, but utterly mind-boggled by what possible motivation could lie at the end of it.

"Mr. Fair," the man said softly, "if you want to escape with your friend, this is your chance." His voice was shaking and Zack's heart suddenly reminded him that he had not always been a jaded prisoner. He swallowed, and took a step towards the man, hesitantly setting aside his rage for the moment.

"Why?" he asked sharply. Rage or not, he wanted to make sure this man knew that if his answer wasn't good enough, he was dying right there. To Zack's horror, tears welled up in the young scientist's eyes, spilling down pale, sunken cheeks. Zack had not cared before that the man had lost weight.

"My daughter is dead," he whispered softly. "I have nothing left for Hojo to threaten me with." He locked eyes with Zack, and did not flinch away from the gaze this time, as he had so may times before. "I want to at least die saving someone. Though I know that will not absolve me of what I have done to you."

Zack gaped at him openly, one hand rising to ruffle his own hair. This was...ridiculous. Soap opera material, and yet... His sense of smell could detect the honest sorrow clinging to the man. The dried salt of tears clung to his skin, and the lines around his eyes and mouth spoke volumes of his sadness. There was no fear in him. Zack swallowed, and traced his eyes over the man who, though probably considered relatively normal sized, looked like a toothpick compared to himself and the general. He could snap the smaller man in half like a twig, if this turned out to be a ruse. But if he was telling the truth..

"What's going to change after today?" Zack asked sharply, commanding the other man's attention once more. The gaze that had wandered to the bodies on the floor snapped back up to him, and Zack felt their weight. There was _guilt_ in that look. Honest guilt, directed towards him. It pissed him the hell off, but he forced himself to hold back from wringing the little man's neck for choosing _now_ to feel guilty.

"Sephiroth is going to be taken to a different lab tomorrow," he said, hands spreading in a non-aggressive gesture of supplication. Zack's eyes darted to the gesture, then back to his startlingly stark expression. "They're going to kill him there. Really kill him, Mr. Fair. Hojo wants to see if bringing him back to life will fix any imperfections." Zack's blood froze in his veins, and a vicious snarl crossed his lips.

"Where. Is. He." he ground out through his rage. His jaw refused to unclench enough for him to speak the words without gritting his teeth. The man before him shuddered, despite his obviously suicidal plan (if Zack believed him, which he was still unsure about.)

"I'll take you to him," the man offered immediately, "and your weapons. I know you don't trust me, Mr. Fair, and I don't blame you for it, but please. Let me do this one thing." Zack stepped forward, towering over the smaller man. In the other man's wide eyes, Zack could see his own fearsome reflection, eyes shining and the blank room whiting out the color of the other man's irises.

"You betray me," he hissed, "and I will make sure your death is anything but quick and painless." The man swallowed, but gave a twitch of a nod, turning immediately and walking from the room. Zack followed, and as he was leaving he turned back to look inside the white room at the two dead guards slowly staining the white floor red, and he smiled viciously. With an air of finality, he closed the door behind himself, and turned away. One way or another, he was never going back in that room.

The man led him in silence through the corridors, the claustrophobic passages twisting and turning in a way completely alien to Zack. He was absolutely certain he had never been this way before, and it worried him. A pit of dread congealed in his stomach. Something new, in this sterile place, almost always meant something horrible. He was taken through a set of double doors into a portion of the building that smelled older. The faint scent of must which had not quite been cleaned away assaulted him, and he welcomed it like a long lost friend, inhaling deeply. The sterile hallways had given way to older, more natural wooden ones, lined with dim lights. Zack felt blind as a bat, and had to stop, trying to blink away three and a half year's worth of snow blindness. When he could see the floor again, albeit through as haze, as though his whole world was encased in fog, he started walking again. He almost jumped out of his skin when the man on whom all his attention ought to have been trained started speaking.

"Her name was Isabella," he said softly, and Zack's eyes darted to him, only to look away again. He couldn't stand the sight of the white coat. Not when he was finally, _finally_ looking at something not white, or stigma black, or blood red, or rust brown. His eyes fixed on the wooden floor of the hallway under his feet like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, even as his curiosity forced him to ask.

"Whose?" he questioned absentmindedly, shaking his head to try and clear the haze that he had not noticed while trapped in his prison.

"My daughter's," the man said, his voice firm on the fact, though Zack could smell his tears on the air once more, and knew he was crying. "Her name was Isabella, and she was only nine years old." Zack had to look up at that, forcing himself to forgive the white coat for the bowed head of the man wearing it. "She was five when Hojo first threatened her life if I tried to help you." Zack stiffened.

"Five," he whispered disbelievingly. "I've been here for..."

"Nearly four years," the man replied, and from the sound off his voice, an extremely unhappy frog had taken up residence in his throat. He stopped to punch a number sequence into a keypad, which certainly didn't look like it belonged to the elegant, carved wooden door it appeared to control. "I'm sorry, Mr. Fair." Zack shook his head. The lock buzzed, and the doors began to open slowly. The young scientist looked back at him, and Zack had to guess that it was out of tear filled eyes. He couldn't see more than the basic features of his face.

"I have no right," he whispered over the creaking of the door, "to ask anything of you. But please, Mr. Fair. Remember my daughter's name when you're free." Zack stared at him for a long moment. He'd been locked up for four years. The man in front of him had been a prisoner that time as well, though he hadn't realized it. Zack thought of Sephiroth, and Angeal, and Aerith, and knew without a doubt he would do anything for them. He nodded slowly, still lost in his thoughts, and heard the man breathe out in relief.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Your friend isn't far now, but he'll be guarded. Can you...?"

"I'll take care of it," Zack said, and meant every word. He would take care of it, Sephiroth would _not_ be killed, and they could all go on living their lives. "But wouldn't it make more sense to get my sword first?" The scientist was shaking his head even before Zack had finished talking.

"Trust me," he said softly, his voice fragile, "If I had delayed in taking you to him, you would have killed me for it. He is far from safe." Zack's stomach dropped still farther, and his heartbeat pounded heavily through his ears, the pale film over his eyes turning rather green as the Soldier's glow took him over.

"Then walk faster," he growled. He didn't have to say it again. The scientist broke out into a very wise run, and the part of Zack not thrumming with fear and worry was startled to realize that he could keep up with a brisk walk, as the other man sprinted. He wondered how close he would be now to keeping up with Sephiroth's long-legged pace. The scientist keyed in another code into a lock and pressed himself against the wall.

"This is the one, sir," he whispered. "Sephiroth is in the mako tank in the center of the room." The doors started to open slowly.

"I'll make sure not to damage it," Zack growled as he bent his knees, clenching his fists and feeling his muscles bunch, prepared to leap through the moment the opening was wide enough. "You make sure to stick around. I'm going to need you." He got the feeling the scientist answered with a positive, but he was focused ahead.

The air leaking through the door reeked of blood, Mako, and stigma and Zack's gaze went almost blank with rage, right up until he caught his first glimpse of a Trooper's mask. Then he was slamming through the door with a scream in his throat that was far from premeditated and grabbing that helmet. He pulled sharply down, slamming his knee into the face-guard. The man within it let out a strangled scream as he died. The world slowed down around him, and he took in a long breath, pushing the rage back to make way for sheer competence. Behind him, he heard the sharp snick of a gun cocking, and he whirled instinctively, kicking the thing from the trooper's hand and punching him hard in his unguarded neck.

The man went down, his windpipe crushed and already strangling to death. A bullet hit Zack in the shoulder, just a grazing blow, but enough to sting. He whirled, catching the shooter by both arms and whirling him around, catching three more bullets from the other occupants of the room in his human shield before throwing the freshly dead body towards its former comrades, managing to knock one of the remaining trio to the ground before he rushed them, a laugh spilling from his throat despite the fear coiling just beneath the surface.

They never stood a chance. Their guns were only as strong as their holds on them, and Zack was stronger than any hand among them. One bullet found his stomach, but his skin healed so quickly around it that he didn't even begin to phase him. In no time, all of them were on the ground, death twitching at their limbs, pulling them through one final dance. Just to be certain, Zack walked from one body to another, stomping their throats in before turning to the imposing, humming machine in the center of the room. He was stunned to catch a glimpse of silver through the small port hole up front.

As the scientist poked his head into the room, Zack approached the tank with tears in his eyes, begging all the Gods he was no longer certain he believed in that Sephiroth would still be alive inside. With each step he took, the tendrils of silver hair grew thicker. One more step, and Zack could see a bundle of tubes like a black artery with white highlights stretching down through the Mako. Another step, and he caught a glimpse of Sephiroth's arm, floating weightlessly at the same height of the window, with three of the tubes connected to his flesh. Zack's eyesight was bad, but even he could see that they extended far enough beneath his skin to be extremely painful, and from the looks of it, the blackish sludge was being pumped into him.

Zack ran up to the window, a hollow gasp ripping from his chest and his brow furrowed in fear and worry. Within, Sephiroth floated, still as death, stark naked, with the same black-liquid filled tubes connected to both arms, both legs, and on either side of his chest and neck, creating at least a dozen little molehills under the skin. Around each one, his skin was turning an ugly, dead color, his thin veins filled with pitch black liquid showing brightly through his nearly translucent skin. It was his face that really drew the eye, though. Zack almost threw up right there, and might have had he not been pulling desperately at the door that kept him from his best friend.

Sephiroth's eyelids had been neatly stitched shut, sending his lush eyelashes into spikes around the black, clinical thread. Dual white tubes ran down each of his nostrils to keep him supplied with oxygen, taped down to his flesh, and pulling his skin into an ugly grimace. His mouth, usually drawn so tight with stress, or curved faintly in the smallest trace of a smile, gaped open in a silent scream, and Zack prayed to all the gods that didn't mean he was awake. From between his blue-tinged lips, the black stigma was flowing, dissipating into the Mako only after swirling possessively around Sephiroth's cheeks, making him look like a child blowing fog-white breath into the winter air, photographed in negative. Sephiroth's hands started to twitch, long digits curling and uncurling spasmodically.

"Move, Mr. Fair," the scientist ordered, and Zack jerked his head around to scream at him, only to find the man behind the controls, fingers poised over the buttons. Zack moved so fast the unenhanced man didn't even see it at first. Then the fingers descended, typing furiously on the keypad. Zack turned again, watching the tank with his heart in his throat. There was a rush of liquid, and the thud of limbs suddenly re-exposed to the force of gravity from within, and Zack gulped. With a great bellow of steam, the machine opened.

The first thing Zack recognized was the sound of Sephiroth's hacking, pathetic cough. He was by the man's side in a moment. The pale man looked weak and alien, lying there with tubes protruding from his skin, writhing on the metal surface of the door. Zack skidded to a halt on his knees, desperately looking Sephiroth over, and grasping one of his twitching hands. Sephiroth responded instantly, turning his blind eyes to Zack and mouthing his name through the choking coughs. The scientist approached cautiously.

"I can help," he offered softly, and Zack knew it was less because he thought the Soldier wasn't aware of that, and more because he didn't want to get slaughtered for coming too close.

"Then get the fuck over here and help him!" Zack screamed, voice cracking childishly, as Sephiroth's face turned more towards him, the trembling hand in his grasp trying to hold on more tightly. Zack could see the indent of irises moving behind the eyelids as though searching. The doctor approached carefully as Zack took his best friend's other hand and started whispering to him. He didn't know what he was saying, but he promised him the world. He promised to return to Wutai with him, not as a combatant, but just as people, which Sephiroth had always wished to do while the young scientist carefully removed the tubes of black from Sephiroth's form, draping them over the sides of the platform he lay on to ensure they wouldn't get in the way again.

"Why can't he talk?" Zack asked, terrified that Sephiroth had been silenced, as Hojo had been fond of doing to Zack himself while working on him.

"Breathing tubes," the man replied distractedly as he carefully pressed down on the artery on the left side of Sephiroth's neck until the black skin had healed itself together where the tube had been implanted. Zack accepted it without asking again and turned back to the suffering man. Sephiroth's hands were cold as ice in his grip, and could not maintain their tight hold on him for long, clenching and then twitching so hard Zack feared he might hurt him by holding on. He held on anyway.

He promised to take Sephiroth out for pizza, like he had always planned to, and to find the worst movies he had ever seen for them to laugh at together. The scientist carefully pulled the tape from Sephiroth's face, illiciting a sharp gasp of discomfort that forced the man into another round of coughing. The scientist didn't wait for him to finish, instead pulling long, clear lengths of plastic carefully and slowly from inside the silver general, making him gag and retch up a mixture of Mako and Stigma that made Zack wonder if Hojo had left enough room for blood and organs inside Sephiroth during his latest procedure.

"Zack," the man gasped when he was finally free of the long tubes. His voice was so quiet Zack only guessed that was what he said by the movement of his lips and the grating of air over vocal chords. He pressed a hand to Sephiroth's cheek, stroking a thumb over his lips carefully and holding on to both of the general's larger hands in one of his own.

"Right here," he whispered. "I'm right here, Seph."

"Can't see," Sephiroth groaned, shifting. It didn't escape Zack's notice that something was wrong with his legs.

"Your eyes are..." he glanced up at the scientist, who had pulled a small, sharp knife from his bag and was looking at Zack with a worried, hesitant gaze. Zack swallowed, and held out his hand. The press of cold steel into his palm felt like a death sentence. "Your eyes are injured," he said softly, releasing Sephiroth's limp hands to place them, still spasming weakly, on the metal platform beside him. "I'm going to help, but you have to hold as still as you possibly can, okay?" Gaia, to him it felt like telling a child not to look while he murdered his family. The stitches in Sephiroth's eyes glared up at him like sacrilege and Zack swallowed hard. Sephiroth only nodded before going limp on the metal door, shivering convulsively, but trying to hold still for his friend.

Zack lowered the scalpel, and did not allow himself to flinch. One slip, and Sephiroth might not ever see him again. He cut the first stitch, and tried not to scream when a stream of black leaked out past the lid.

"He's overdosed on J-cells," the scientist said softly. "It will clear. Keep going." Zack swallowed, cupping Sephiroth's cheek and kneeling to give himself a more stable ground. Sephiroth's head lolled limply in Zack's hold, and his breath hissed in and out in ragged pants. There was an ugly gargle in the sound, and Zack lifted the scalpel, reading the sound.

"Go ahead and cough, Seph," he ordered softly. The silver general hacked fiercely, curling in on himself as much as he could, but it was a pathetic amount, as though his body was taking his every movement and dimming it. He slumped bonelessly again, and Zack ignored the trail of stigma, mako and spit pooling on the palm that held Sephiroth's head steady and glared his other hand to stillness going back to work on the stitches.

Isolate, cut, pull thread out, let Sephiroth cough again, as though he were drowning, start again. It was grueling and terrifying. Zack was nauseous, and horrified. When the first eye opened, loosening pure black liquid to spill down his cheek like a tear. He whimpered when his iris hit the air. Zack couldn't help with the pain, but he took a moment to collect himself, looking up at the young scientist who had been talking him through the work and placing his free hand on Sephiroth's shoulder, the other still keeping his head off the cold, hard steel of the door beneath him. The young man pulled out a bottle of water from his bag and handed it to Zack.

"Take a drink," he suggested, "then wash that eye out. I've got a few more bottles for when we've got him mostly fixed up." Zack nodded, taking a swig from the bottle (and not missing Sephiroth's quiet moan when his hand released the larger man's shoulder to take the bottle) and carefully pouring the remainder over the half open eye, murmuring to Sephiroth how well he was doing, and how strong he was. Sephiroth made not another sound, but enough of the black cleared out of his eye that Zack could see the mako shining again.

The scientist moved away, leaving Zack to whisper soft encouragements in peace to his friend, and Zack watched him move down to inspect Sephiroth's legs with trepidation. The flinch the doctor gave was enough that Zack, with a reassurance to his friend he wouldn't be far, stood up too see what he was looking at.

The backs of Sephiroth's calves had been cut open to the bone, rendering his legs useless until they were healed. Zack almost screamed as rage rushed through him, and something occurred to him suddenly.

"Where's Hojo?" he asked the scientist, who had returned to his bag. Sephiroth was reaching a weak hand towards Zack, single opened eye tracking blindly across the room, searching for him. Zack instantly took the hand, despite never looking away from the scientist, and Sephiroth closed his eye once more, letting out a soft, raspy breath.

"He's not here," the man said as he dug out a bangle equipped with a full cure materia. Zack muffled the impressed expression that tried to leech onto his face. "He's away visiting with one of his colleges. Langley. The one who was going to..." he broke off, looking down at Sephiroth, and Zack nodded. The one who was going to help kill his friend. Understood. The man swallowed and continued. "Get that second eye open, and I'll use the cure, Mr. Fair."

"Zack." he corrected as he knelt once more by Sephiroth's side, gently removing the hand that tried to stop him from turning his head to access the other eye, laying a kiss on it and whispering a soft reassurance to his half-delusional friend. Sephiroth fell still again, though his lips quivered with tension. Zack swallowed as he picked up the scalpel again. "What's your name?"

"Stentson," he replied, settling on Sephiroth's other side to watch Zack work. The young First (not so young anymore, he thought to himself sadly) looked up at the man and swallowed.

"Stentson. Can you do this better than me?" he asked, feeling his hand shake, the cold steel feeling more like fire in his palm. Sephiroth made a soft sound of protest, and Stentson swallowed.

"I doubt it, sir." he said softly. "I'm an observer, not a doctor. And you did well before. Just take a deep breath." Zack did so, not thinking to bristle at the well-intentioned order. He felt a rush of breath against his arm as Sephiroth tried to call his name again, and Zack fell back into focusing on his friend, watching the trail of stigma dripping lazily from between his pale lips, as his mouth worked silently. Zack felt a fond smile twitch his mouth and he lowered a brief kiss to the corner of Sephiroth lips, ignoring the reek of stigma-tainted blood. Stetson gasped hollowly, and Zack heard a note of disgust. Sephiroth didn't seem to care. He settled instantly, going limp and relaxed once more, trembling hand sliding off the edge of the slab-like device he lay on to flop loosely against Zack's leg.

Zack drew back, trying to ignore the taste of rotten blood on his lips, and using the stigma almost as a smelling salt, centering himself before carefully cutting the first stitch on Sephiroth's second eye, not missing any of the soft, whimpering pants escaping the silver general. It sickened him more than any stigma stain or horrible smell. Sephiroth _never_ complained without prompting, and he certainly never whimpered. It was tragic, and twisted.

Stentson was staring at him, and Zack didn't give a flying fuck. He cut the second stitch, and smiled a little as Sephiroth's hand gripped his leg in an expression of discomfort before falling limp once more, the fingers twitching weakly like a dying spider.

It went more quickly, since Zack was more confident in what he was doing. As soon as Sephiroth lay still, exhausted from a coughing fit or the aggravation of an injury so grievous it left him writhing weakly, like a drowning snake, Zack would snap his blade through the next stitch, wiping away the blood drawn by the motion with a careful thumb, trying not to touch the seeping stigma, in order to keep his hands clean enough to see what he was doing. Sephiroth's eyelids twitched and fluttered under his touch, the pale skin a dark, mottled blue with bruising from the damaged flesh.

"Bear with it," Zack whispered to the man as a dry sob wracked its way through Sephiroth's lips, glancing down to see his too thin abdomen spasming with sorrow and pain. The long hand on his leg tightened again, and Zack took it as permission, catching Sephiroth's face in his hand to keep it still, cutting the final stitch on his eye with a decisive flick of the blade and pulling the thick thread free from the delicate flesh, trying not to scratch the fragile eye beneath.

Stentson let out a breath, and Zack remembered his presence with a start and looked up to him. He was already being offered a bottle of water, and he took it quickly, washing out the eye carefully, watching the thin trails of blood from the small punctures in both lids wash away with a small amount of the dark fluid in his eye.

"Can you cure him now?" Zack asked, brows furrowed as he threw the scalpel across the room before taking the general's empty hand in his own, stroking a careful thumb over the man's bony knuckles. Stentson instantly awoke the green stone in his bangle, and Zack went back to ignoring him as the green glow fell over the general like a shroud, stroking the mass of sopping wet, green-tinted hair off of his face and whispering to him. Sephiroth's throat worked as he tried to speak, and Zack let a finger fall to his lips, hushing him carefully since Sephiroth couldn't see him. Zack wasn't sure he could hear him either, at least not clearly. His skin was sticky with mako, and his eyes still tracked blindly across air, but he seemed to recognize Zack's touch at least.

The doctor started working on Sephiroth's legs, and the taller man gripped Zack's thigh again, mouth widening to frame a scream that escaped him only as a pathetic whisper of breath. It was heartbreaking, and Zack half-stood to sit beside him, pulling both the spasming hands to him, encouraging them to onto his right hand when they stopped twitching long enough to do so, while his left hand kept stroking the general's hair back from his face.

That face drew his gaze and held it, the eyes bleeding tainted fluid down cheeks twisted in a silent howl of pain, the brief, quick intakes of breath like the clutching sobs of a child. His mouth was wet with stigma, and his lips cracked from over-exposure to the Mako, and bleeding as he screamed. His perfect teeth were strained by his dark blood, and his throat worked soundlessly. He flinched and curled as fiercely as he ever had when suffering from an onslaught of the alien sickness, with no end in sight. Behind him, Zack could hear the younger man urging the wounds on his legs to heal, and he did not miss it when that man uttered a soft gasp of horror. His gaze snapped back to find him staring fixedly at the limbs he was attempting to heal, and followed the look.

Even as the muscles of his calves slowly stitched themselves back together (a gruesome sight, to be sure,) the point where the tube force-feeding J-cells into his blood stream had been attached mid-thigh had started to bubble malignantly on contact with the green glow. Sephiroth managed a cry at that, feeble and lonely. Zack swallowed.

"Don't stop," he ordered the other man, above a sobbed whimper of argument from the man his hands were still comforting automatically. The scientist's skin was tinted green, but Zack wasn't sure if it was the glow from his eyes, or sickness at the torture that he was putting Sephiroth through. For his sake, Zack hoped it was the second. He turned back to Sephiroth's anguished face with no small amount of regret. There was nothing he could do to make it less painful for him, but he needed to be with him. Sephiroth could handle pain, Zack was well aware, but neither of them could survive without the other. Zack was already ten days late.

The green glow crawled up through Sephiroth like a creeping tide, and had he not heard the man's ragged panting, Zack would have suspected Stentson was taking his sweet time with the painful procedure for fun. As it was, he was obviously trying his hardest, so Zack didn't bother threatening him. There were more important things to do anyway, like trying to calm Sephiroth through the pain well enough that he could get a breath or two in between his silent screams. It was easier said than done. Those perfect lips were still mouthing words through his whisper-quiet shrieks of agony, and Zack's gaze was drawn to his chest as the black marks over his ribs boiled and hissed softly. His chest shuddered and lurched under the agony of the sizzling skin, and the harsh light of the room deepened the shadows on his already stark ribs, making him look like little more than a beautiful, tormented skeleton, with just enough left of him to make his remaining life a misery. Zack tightened his hold on the hands in his grasp, and bent to press another kiss to that tortured face, this time at his temple. Sephiroth turned into the touch blindly, curling against him even as the cure worked its inexorable way upwards.

"Za—ck," worked its way from his throat again, and Zack pulled him into a tight hold, feeling bad for the pain it obviously caused the man, but guessing that Sephiroth would prefer it to lying on cold metal, suffering. He was justified when both those weak hands tangled in his hair, and Sephiroth muffled his already silent screams in Zack's shoulder, leaving a feel of wet, cold liquid, and Zack shivered as Sephiroth's sopping-wet hair clung to him. The green wave of healing magic reached up past Sephiroth's shoulders, boiling the patches of skin on his neck where the feed had been pumping into his bloodstream. The stench of burning flesh and rotten meat assaulted Zack instantly and he clenched his jaw shut to hold back a retch.

It took a moment, but soon the spell sank deep enough that something caught in Sephiroth's voice again, making him audible, though with his voice so damaged he sounded more like an old man than himself. It wasn't the quality of his words, however, which froze Zack to the spot and filled him with a silent, unspeakable rage towards the world.

"Go," the man was pleading, "go, Zack, leave me. Go!"

It was a repeated mantra, as though it were the only thing in the man's head. The cure spell broke at his neck, the scientist finally running out of power to do it properly and allowing the spell a moment to really sink in. Zack snarled and grabbed Sephiroth by the shoulders sharply, pushing him back just far enough that the hands were pulled out of his hair, and giving him a sharp shake that pulled forth another pained gasp.

"No!" he snapped, "You say that again and I'm knocking your ass out right here and now and carrying you out! We're going together!" Sephiroth shook his head, but seemed unable to answer, head lolling from the vicious shake. Zack refused to feel guilty for it. He had enough to deal with without guilt. However, he did smooth his hands over the spots on Sephiroth's biceps that were already bruising from his sharp grip. "We're going together."

Sephiroth couldn't see him, he was relativity certain. If he could he couldn't see him well. His eyes tracked across his face as though he weren't there, but there was a stricken, hopeless look on his face, and those damaged eyes were wide to the air, and his lips were trembling vulnerably. Zack traced a finger over his cheek, but his eyes had already turned back to the marks on his body. Rather than being an ugly, dead, gangrene black, each of them was now an angry, blistered welt, as though his skin had been badly burned rather than killed. It was ugly, but it was an improvement.

Stentson silently handed him a potion, sweat pouring down his face from his over exertion on the cure materia, and Zack raised it to Sephiroth's lips. The silver general immediately jerked away, and Zack saw the fear in him at that moment. Not even fear for Zack, this time. What had done to him this time, Sephiroth had awake and aware for it, and would remember. The thought made Zack sick, and brought to mind for the first time what in the name of Gaia they were going to do once they were out. He was starting to suspect that rejoining society was out of the question, but for now he had no answer for that, and no time to ponder it.

"Drink," he ordered, feeling like a tyrant and a bully for forcing him into it. Sephiroth's lips parted, probably to argue, but Zack had the creeping sensation that they were running out of time, and tipped the liquid into his mouth anyway. He choked, then swallowed, and a brief, green glow rose up in him, and some of the vagueness in his face cleared.

"Zackary," he groaned softly. Zack silenced whatever he would have said with another careful kiss, and was grateful to find that the potion had washed away at least some of the taste of stigma from the other man's mouth. Sephiroth remained slumped in his arms like a burlap sack of bones, staring at him as though he were the alien, though the blankness of his eyes implied he really saw nothing at all, or at least only vague outlines. Zack was forced to wonder what he himself would have seen if he'd had his full, healed eyesight, with which to inspect Sephiroth. He suspected he would see much more of the emotion in his face. He was suddenly incredibly thankful for snow blindness.

"No more arguing," Zack whispered, his voice intense and half desperate. "I'm leaving, and you're coming with me. Final answer, Seph. I need you with me." Sephiroth fell silent, and Zack had the feeling it had more to do with being exhausted and weak than having nothing to say.

"We've got to go, Mr. Fair," Stentson hissed. "Hojo's gone, but plenty of his goons are still around." Zack nodded absently, not really paying the man any mind now, watching Sephiroth's head turn to the other man's voice, his eyes narrowed and lips curled down with distrust. The healing muscles in Sephiroth's shoulders clenched dangerously. Zack squeezed the cold flesh under his hands warningly, and wished he could make eye contact with the man. It made all their communications easier.

"We need him," Zack growled. Sephiroth looked to him with furrowed brows, tilting his head, and his voice came out shaky and warped when he spoke, normally flat inflection apparently being stepped on by a few more elephants.

"What did you say?" He asked, each word falling from his lips with a heavy effort. Zack swallowed heavily, and placed a hand by Sephiroth's ear, turning his head to take a look at it. Geostigma had managed to flow even from there, though it was fortunately sliding off the hair surrounding it rather than staining as usual. Sephiroth was trembling in his grasp, so Zack patted his cheek twice before standing, keeping hold of his hands.

"We have to go," he said loudly and clearly, tugging lightly on the fingers in his grasp. "Try to stand up, Seph."

The man tried. He honestly did. He managed to sit up, with only a few small gasps of pain, but by his third time stubbornly trying to stand up by himself, Zack hoisted him to his feet and propped him on the wall, keeping both hands on his shoulders in case he crumpled.

Sephiroth didn't crumple, but he sagged against the wall like a weary puppet, and Zack shuddered at the memory of his nightmare. Both of the man's knees popped alarmingly, and Sephiroth snarled, eyes flashing briefly behind the dark haze. He stumbled once, then forced himself up, chest heaving in heavy, wet breaths, and spitting Mako like a swimmer with chlorine in their mouth. Zack scowled in displeasure. He really would have liked to clean Sephiroth up, but there was certainly no time for that. The dull green glow of the liquid on his skin _looked_ uncomfortable, and from experience, Zack knew what it was like to be covered in that uncanny liquid. Uncomfortable would be putting it mildly, if he wasn't mistaken. But he didn't have time, and they needed to run if they wanted to escape at all. Zack was not stupid enough to have any qualms about taking the opportunity, even if Seph was far from up to it, and he himself was on the verge of a nervous meltdown. He choked down the urge to grab Sephiroth so tightly he would be unable to pull away, or glue himself to the other man's side desperately, instead he swallowed, taking in a long breath, and turning to Stentson.

'We need clothes and weapons," he said firmly, chasing all traces of weakness out of his voice. The scientist nodded, then gestured to Sephiroth, not looking at the man. Zack instantly stiffened at the move, his eyes hardening, and moving unconsciously closer to his friend.

"Walking will be difficult," he observed. Zack growled lowly in his throat, and felt Sephiroth react behind him to the rumble in the air, if not the sound. Stentson went on without a qualm. "but try to keep up. There's not a lot of time before someone realizes what's happened." He turned and strode from the room, still oblivious to the fact that Zack's expression had changed from grim to murderous. Zack took Sephiroth's arm carefully, hand folding around the wet, sticky skin and bracing him. Sephiroth had his eyes turned to the door with a suspicious expression of distaste on his face, but instantly put his weight on Zack, staggering and leaning heavily on the shorter man.

"Hang in there," Zack whispered, pulling the man's thin arm over his shoulders to give him a firmer support. The taller man said nothing, head drooping wearily, and his hair in wet tangles drooping around them both, weighing him down. Zack half-dragged him from the room as Sephiroth tried to keep his feet under himself, with little success. Zack couldn't begrudge him that. Ten days in a mako tank... He himself had barely survived two.

"Please Gaia tell me you weren't in there the whole time," he whispered softly. Sephiroth did not respond, and Zack wasn't sure whether that was because he hadn't heard him, or because he couldn't reassure him of that. When he looked over, he was greeted only by a fall of green-tinted silver hair covering Sephiroth's bowed head. Zack wasn't sure if he was concentrating on walking, or if he was simply too exhausted to lift his head. One way or another, Zack let it go, and turned back to the front, his heart thrumming in his chest painfully with excitement and fear.

Stentson was leading them onwards without looking back, and Zack half-carried Sephiroth behind him without a thought to the other man's weight. Four years ago (four _years_, he thought) Sephiroth's weight would have been more than significant. Now Zack was strong enough, and Sephiroth small enough for him to be an easily carried burden. He wasn't nearly as heavy as the buster sword. A wheezing cough escaped Sephiroth, and Zack pulled him a little closer on instinct, throwing the man's balance off a little, but not reprimanded for it. Sephiroth's hand, draped over his shoulder and twitching, clenched in the fabric of his shirt, bunching the folds up over Zack's heart, and scratching the fabric lightly over his chest.

By the time Stentson opened the next locked door, Sephiroth had gone utterly limp, and Zack was dragging him, one arm around his waist, and holding the long-fingered hand that had bunched in his shirt. The digits were still fluttering randomly in his grip, as though trying to help their master, and being unable to. The room opened, and Zack instantly caught his breath and pulled his best friend inside. Stentson closed the door behind them, but Zack paid him no mind. He painstakingly lowered Sephiroth to sit slumped against the wall, trailing careful hands over his skin as he pulled away and stepped to the back of the rather large, dark room.

His heart was in his throat, and his eyes were misty not only with snow blindness but with tears. He reached out a hand that had been steady moments before, and shook like a leaf now. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and closed his hand around the hilt of the Buster sword. He lifted it easily, his hand no longer shaking now that it gripped that firm leather hilt, which was as familiar and dear as an old friend. A smile pulled at the corners of Zack's mouth as twin tears slid down his cheeks. Finally, he had been given back a piece of himself.


	16. Other Kingdom

**A/N: Thanks so much everyone! I'm feelin' the love. Enjoy the chapter guys! I hope it satisfies some of you. And remember! Reviews are my motivation! They're what keep me writing this story! (Instead of concentrating on my novel, which I really ought to be trying to finish... I just love you guys that much.) Special thanks to FeatherHD, Sasha, and Tazzles, who reviewed last chapter! You guys eased my mind a lot. I was worried that one would make everybody hate me. T-T XD**

**And because I haven't said it lately, THANKS TO RAKUENGAKI FOR BETAING! Everyone make sure to give her lots of encouragement on The Good Doctor's Plan. We've been suffering writers block together, and she could use the support of all you awesome readers!  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own FFVII! If I did... It would already have been re-released for the PS3.  
**

Chapter Sixteen—Other Kingdom

Zack regained himself as quickly as he could, fighting for control of his wildly fluctuating emotions. Sephiroth was damaged, badly, but with him. And now, Buster was in his hands once more. He just needed... His gaze landed on the magnetic sheath harness hanging on the wall, and he let out a childish laugh of excitement. A soft, raspy cough from behind him drew his attention again and he went back to Sephiroth's side, Buster still in one hand, but held out and away from the other man, ringing softly when it touched the floor as Zack knelt by his friend.

"Hey, Seph, deep breaths, buddy," he greeted softly. Sephiroth's head lolled towards him, eyes opening just a little to reveal the wet blackness within, and he breathed his friend's name through cracked lips. Zack's lips quirked briefly, trying to smile through the pain at Sephiroth. The man looked drunk, his normally stoic face slack and empty, his eyes hooded, and the lids horribly bruised and swollen, now that the Mako was not forcing them to remain in stasis.

Behind Zack, a clatter sounded, followed by a fierce curse from Stentson, and though Sephiroth's eyes flickered briefly, and the muscles twitched beneath his skin, he didn't move. Zack found to his surprise that he had automatically lifted Buster sword at the unexpected interruption. He put it down carefully again, still not letting go of it, and ignored the continued clatter of the things Hojo had accumulated as Stentson searched for something.

"Seph," he whispered when he decided Stentson was far enough away, leaning close to Sephiroth's ear. The man's head turned and raised a little and Zack heard him swallow and open his dry mouth with a soft smack of dehydrated tongue and lips. Zack felt another false smile twitch his face, and took one of Sephiroth's hands in his, pulling Buster closer and wrapping Sephiroth's fingers around the hilt. The slivers of color that were his eyes widened enough for the irises to once more become visible. and the empty gaze drew down to the sword. Zack placed his hand back on Sephiroth's shoulder, watching that empty, damaged face change subtly to reflect the man inside once more.

"It's the Buster," Zack whispered, voice clouding with tears. "It's 'Geal's Buster, Seph." Zack broke off, placing his forehead on Sephiroth's shoulder, carefully not touching his neck, which still sported a mark like a second degree burn, caused from the inside.

"Buster," whispered Sephiroth, as though being united with an old friend. His voice was raw and broken, but less slurred than before. Suddenly, the shoulder beneath his forehead stiffened, and Sephiroth gasped sharply enough to send himself into a fit of coughing. Zack blinked and pulled back, rubbing a careful hand over his shoulder and bicep as the fit wracked his frame. Sephiroth's empty hand flapped weakly in an attempt to wave him off. He started speaking before the fit had even tapered.

"Masa--," he choked in between wracking coughs. Zack's brows drew together, Sephiroth gasped in another breath between the fierce hacks, which had showered specks of blood on the floor. It took him a few more tries before he got more than two syllables into the word.

"Masamune," he called, and sent a pleading look Zack's way. Zack's own eyes widened in recognition.

"Shit," he exclaimed, "yeah! I'll go find it, Seph, hang tight." He patted the man twice on the shoulder and turned back to the room, first grabbing the harness sheath for himself then wading back into the mountain of personal items. He did not allow himself to think of how very many people Hojo must have destroyed to have this many personal effects. Still, he doubted it would be _too_ difficult to find a seven foot katana in the mess. In fact, the blade ended up hanging along one of the far walls, and though it was not too hard to find, getting to it, removing it from the wall and getting out with it again were much more difficult. By the time Zack stumbled free of the wreckage with a clatter of items, he was panting softly from the exertion of doing all that as fast as he could. Stentson was still nowhere to be seen, but the room was far from quiet, and Zack was utterly certain he had not slipped out. He had noticed a couple smaller doors to other storage areas, and guessed that the strange and increasingly obnoxious scientist was in one of them. He didn't let it bother him.

Sephiroth had turned to the sound the moment Zack came back into the little clearing at the front of the room. There was something startlingly endearing in the way he held Buster, one hand still curled serenely around the hilt while the other stroked the heavy blade almost hesitantly, his blank eyes wrinkled slightly in nostalgia. Zack smiled softly at the view and walked over, kneeling by him again, and taking one of the tapering hands in his own, bringing it briefly to his lips before curling it around Masamune's hilt. Sephiroth's lips parted, and his eyes widened, brows twisting as he gazed blindly forward, fingers tracing the flat of the blade to grip the hilt of his beloved weapon. Zack settled by him, reclaiming Buster to hold himself, sitting shoulder to shoulder with his best friend.

"I got the right seven-foot-long sword, right?" he asked blithely, even as he fingered Buster's edge with a little regret. The blade Angeal's father had died for had been allowed to dull over the four years. It only increased Zack's already burning passion to kill the bastard.

"Yes," Sephiroth answered, his voice soft and reverent, if reedy. Zack watched his fingers trace every inch of the simple hilt before drawing his finger down the blade just enough to nick his finger, drawing blood. Zack heard him exhale briefly.

"The bastard has let her dull," he sighed sadly, coughing once more at the end of the phrase with a frown twitching on his face. Zack almost laughed at the statement, but there was too much regret in the words for him to do so. He knew Sephiroth loved the sword unquestionably, and holding Buster in his hands again, he understood completely. The swords would never abandon them. They had been taken away, of course, but they had waited. He smiled sadly to himself and ran his own hand down the rough designs on the flat edge of his incredible broad sword, and regretted that its only other wielder wasn't by his side. Then he inhaled deeply and let out the breath again, steadying himself. He could already hear Stentson returning.

The man stumbled back into the same area as the two, and was resolutely ignored by Sephiroth, even as his eyes widened at the sight of both Soldiers already armed. He carried a rather large sack in one hand, and two large folds of fabric in the other. Zack's interest piqued instantly.

"Whatcha got, science-guy?" he asked, only a little sharpness in his voice. Stentson bristled, and tossed him the fabric. Zack beamed when he recognized a pair of black, first-class uniforms, and an eerily familiar leather jacket. Sephiroth was still obsessively running both hands over his blade, apparently re-familiarizing himself with it, so Zack took a minute to rub his fingertips carefully over the leather. Unlike the swords, it had not decayed in the least, and Zack found himself incredibly glad. The heavy metal pauldrons did look slightly tarnished, but the leather itself was as supple and soft as it had been the one time he had touched Sephiroth while he wore it.

Stentson next pulled out a dim red orb and another potion vial, walking over to hand both to Zack, making sure to stay on the other side of him from Sephiroth, and handed them over.

"It's the only way to clean up Geostigma," he explained. "The bag's full of potions, and this is yours." He pulled the bangle off his wrist and pressed it into Zack's hand, avoiding actual contact between skin. Zack could feel the potential power of the cure and fire flaring in his touch, and wondered when materia had become so responsive to him.

"Um," Zack said, brow furrowing, "I've seen those bastards from the morning do this, but I have no idea.." Stentson carefully didn't sigh or groan in frustration. In fact, he didn't do it a little _too_ carefully, which gave the implication that he really wanted to. He flicked out a rag.

"For big spills of it, just pour a potion on and light it. The potion protects anything natural, so as long as your clothes aren't synthetic, it should work on those too. For smaller ones," he brandished his rag proudly, "douse one of these and cast a low level fire on it to warm it up. It's not perfect, but it works with a little effort." Zack nodded, and took the rag from him, and gave it a shot, cleaning off first his own lips to make sure it worked without any pain, then re-dousing it and going to work on Sephiroth's stained cheeks, much to the man's surprise. Sephiroth had apparently been entirely distracted by the sword, and had probably only been able to hear half that conversation anyway. Zack patted his shoulder to calm him down again, the gesture familiar and automatic, dabbing the cloth around his eyes carefully before tracing down and wiping most of it off his chin.

Sephiroth tolerated it without a word, but kept his gaze turned blindly to the side, only flinching a little when Zack took his sword with a soft apology and doused him in potion before setting it briefly alight. In an added bonus, that seemed to take care of most of the Mako as well. Unfortunately, Sephiroth seemed to find it particularly unpleasant, grimacing fiercely at the sensation, and making Zack duck his head sheepishly and mutter an apology, touching their foreheads together. Sephiroth was enough in charge of himself by that point that he still didn't make a sound, but the heat was obviously painful in contact with the burns on his skin, and his eyes watered in discomfort.

"Wait," Zack said as Sephiroth loosened again, breath sighing out as the last flicker of uncanny flame flickered out, "I thought you couldn't cry." Sephiroth grunted slightly, ignoring Zack for the most part and remaining slumped against the wall loosely, apparently savoring the feel of actual air on his skin.

"It's not that," Stentson answered, and Zack stiffened minutely, "Hojo engineered him so that tears couldn't be triggered by emotions. His eyes are fully functional." The glare Zack gave the man could have leveled cities, and he wisely shut up before continuing to gush about the cleverness of the twisted alteration that had taken something so preciously human from his friend. Stentson cleared his throat, shifting, and glanced to the door.

"We really don't have much time," he reminded. Zack huffed out a breath, but nodded in agreement, leaving on his shirt and pulling the sleeveless first-class turtle neck over it. It was bloody _cold_, and he wanted to have something covering his arms. He could always ditch it later. He did remove the obnoxiously flimsy white pants before pulling on the uniform ones he hadn't worn in years. It wasn't one of his own outfits that he'd been given when he was promoted, but it was familiar none the less, and he refused to be bothered by the fact that it might have originally belonged to someone else Hojo had destroyed. He blinked suddenly.

"Hey," he said, turning to Stentson once more as he considered how best to help Sephiroth get clothed, "Are my boots here? The ones I used to clonk that guard, preferably." Stentson blinked.

"Uhm... Probably," he conceded. Without requiring further prompting, he waded back out into stolen possessions land to try and locate them. Zack let out a breath, and guessed that it was probably less the man's willingness to help, and more that he didn't want to watch Zack help his best friend in the world dress.

"Alright, Seph," he said, his voice firm enough that he was certain the man could hear it through his stuffed up ears. That long hand had managed to regain Masamune's hilt once more, and was stroking it carefully.

"You needn't shout," Sephiroth corrected easily. "The remedy, while unorthodox, seems to have cleared my hearing." Zack leaned over to check his gaze, and found it still black. Sephiroth let out a low rumble of amusement. "Not so my eyes."

"Shit," said Zack softly, "well..."

"Yes," Sephiroth agreed. "Clothing is a necessity. Especially if we are truly escaping." He sounded skeptical. Zack refused to pick up on it.

"We are," he insisted. "Now let's see if we can handle this." Sephiroth looked over at him with vacant eyes, and a calm expression.

"We have handled worse," he responded. Zack felt warmth flood him at the words, disturbing as they were in their truth. It didn't make dressing the weak man any easier, but it did take the edge off the situation, and Zack felt immensely proud of Sephiroth for managing to diffuse it himself, as though it was some accomplishment of his that Seph had learned to do so. He knew it wasn't, at least not entirely, but he was proud anyway. It was hard for the man to even _think_ things of that nature, much less speak them aloud.

Zack fastened the coat—which looked a little too large on the man at the moment, and rubbed a little uncomfortably against the injured places on his sides, but served as an invaluable source of warmth and protection. Of course, Zack had also insisted Sephiroth wear a First's turtleneck under the leathers to give his chest some cover, but none the less... He found himself having a mixed reaction to the trench coat as he pulled away from fastening the buckles, looking up at Sephiroth's face, which was blank for now, his eyes closed and mouth soft as he drifted out of consciousness briefly. Zack knew he'd come faround as soon as he was called.

He went to work pulling socks onto the long, elegant feet of the man who had once been his hero, biting his lip. The trench had meant a lot of things to him over the years. It had been a symbol of power when he watched Sephiroth move in it, as though leather were the most comfortable, flexible material on Gaia, which Zack was quite sure it was not. It had symbolized friendship the first time he watched the General take it off and hang it up in front of him. Then, finally, in Nibelheim, it had been the symbol of death. That coat billowing out behind Sephiroth as he dropped from the sky, Masamune shining fiercely in his grasp. Lashing out behind him at his every mad, aggressive movement, it had been an an eerie foreshadowing of the wing he kept so carefully hidden, though Zack had no way of knowing that at the time.

Now it made him look young, Zack realized with a shudder. It made him look young, and small, and broken. The socks firmly in place, Zack went to lacing up the extremely large general issue (he snickered to himself) Soldier boots. Four years had passed, and Sephiroth had been, what, twenty two when they left? Twenty three? Zack couldn't remember ever asking the man how old he was, though he remembered asking about his birthday. Sephiroth had told him his date of birth, and then ordered him never to force him into a celebration of it, insisting that it was a date of no importance. Zack hated himself a little for not remembering the date after those words. He had intended to, but he had lost Angeal so quickly afterwards...

With Sephiroth's boots laced, and the general's hands finally starting to relax, managing to go for whole minutes without a heart-rending spasm, Zack bowed his head and clasped his hands. For the first time in a very very long time, he called to Angeal.

"Help us," he whispered softly, one hand sliding down from the position of prayer to touch Buster's smooth, cool surface. "I know I failed you, 'Geal. Help me be strong enough to save Seph."

"I found them," Stentson announced loudly from across the room. Zack jumped, and half drew Buster before remembering he and Sephiroth had not been alone. Then he drew in a long breath and forced his hand to place the blade back on the ground and not hack Stentson in two. He wouldn't really mind doing it, but he would prefer not having to. After all, the guy _was_ saving him, no matter how much of a douche he was about it.

And there they were. His beloved boots, dangling in the scientist's hand, extended out to him. He plucked them from the young man's hands and snuggled them gleefully. His lovely hero boots would _not_ be taken from him again. He instantly started pulling them on over his socks, grinning ear to ear.

"Stentson, you're the man," he said without really believing it, but feeling buoyant enough to spread it around. Stentson didn't reply, but Zack was busy lacing up his newly dubbed 'hero boots' and humming cheerily to himself. Sephiroth's light breathing at his back as a rhythm keeper, though it was a beat too syncopated for him to actually enjoy. The moment his boots were laced he stood, tapping both toes and reveling in having warm feet for the first time in ages.

"Stentson," he addressed, even as he looked down at Sephiroth instead of at the man, pulling on his chest harness as he went and buckling it automatically, as though the four years since its last touch had never occurred. "You ready to show us the way out?" Stentson hesitated, and Zack looked up to him again warily as he holstered Buster, reveling in the weight of the sword clipping easily to his back.

"You're really taking him with you," Stentson asked, sounding amazed. Zack's eyes blazed.

"Stentson," he said softly, "You're saving both of our lives, so I'm grateful to you," he took a step forward and towered over the man, "But I don't let anyone talk about Sephiroth like that. Clear?" The man couldn't even catch the breath to speak, his face paling, and Zack reigned in his anger, turning back to Sephiroth and kneeling before him, patting his cheek twice, hand gentle against the cold skin.

"C'mon, Seph. Time to go," he said softly smiling a little when his hand was instinctively nuzzled lightly by the bleary man. Then Sephiroth's mouth tightened at the corners, though his eyes stayed closed, and with a snarl of effort, he rose to his feet, not elegantly, but stable, Masamune still held in one hand at his side. Zack patted his shoulder once, then moved away a bit, trusting Sephiroth to know his own limits.

Stentson turned without another word to either of them, and Zack could see the disgust radiating from the set of his shoulders and the stalky quality of his walk. Zack had no idea what, exactly, Stentson found so utterly repulsive about the idea of Sephiroth, and he didn't give a shit. Savior or no, Stentson would find himself missing an arm if he so much as looked at Sephiroth funny again. As Stentson stopped to briefly consult what appeared to be a coded map, Zack glanced back to his friend and noticed his hand was trembling on Masamune's hilt. The sword was _heavy_. Zack nodded once, then went and fetched another of the magnetic scabbards and returned to Sephiroth, pressing it into his free hand. The general scowled, but allowed Zack to take his famous sword to strap himself into the harness by feel alone before allowing Zack to attach his sword, to save them both the danger of Sephiroth moving the monster of a sword without his vision.

The moment Masamune was secured, Zack placed a hand on one of Sephiroth's leather-coated arms and squeezed lightly, once, before leading him from the room. Sephiroth fell easily into step with him, and Zack winced inwardly at the determined stride of his partner's gait. Zack was well aware that Sephiroth would be suffering later for his refusal to act as though he were actually hurt. He had an amazing ability to put off his injuries until he had time to deal with them, but Zack could see, glancing at the tightness around his eyes, that he was in immense pain.

Looking ahead at the stiff, storming walk of the man who was going to free them, Zack decided not to blame Sephiroth for refusing to allow his injuries to make him appear weak. Stentson was on a death mission, and Zack suddenly started hoping a hell of a lot that Stentson wouldn't decide he'd chosen his last act badly, and would be better off just finishing himself before the task was done. Zack swallowed. Once upon a time, he would have been able to read Stentson's intentions, but whatever gift he'd had with people, he couldn't seem to reach it. He understood Sephiroth. He didn't understand anyone else.

Stentson opened another code-guarded door, without a word, his lips drawn into a tight, strict line, and Zack licked his lips, tightening his hand on Sephiroth's arm briefly. The silver general stood stiff backed and silent beside him, chin high and looking forward without seeing anything. Zack rubbed a thumb over the bangle he'd been gifted with by the strange man, and wondered at his motivation. He wondered what his daughter must have been like, as he carefully removed his hand from Sephiroth's arm to equip the fire materia he still carried loose beside the cure, and wished he had an ice. He'd always been fond of the chilly materia. When he slipped the bangle over his hand and onto his wrist, he shuddered briefly in surprise at the heat that came with it, the materia still responding to his very presence. Sephiroth noticed, and glanced down at them, his hand reaching out and touching Zack's arm carefully, hand moving slowly through the air as he attempted to find his skin rather than waving a hand emptily through the air. Zack reached over to catch his hand half way, and allowed the elegant, ungloved fingers to run over the bangle making the materia sing.

"Fire and cure," he muttered to himself. "Highly leveled, as well. Your friend has provided well for you." There was no trace of humor in the deep, rough voice. In fact, there was no inflection at all, Zack punched him lightly in the arm, and flinched at the whimper that broke from the other man after the move.

"Sorry," he whispered urgently, "I forgot." He smoothed a hand over Sephiroth's arm where he struck in tacit apology. Sephiroth shrugged it off, smoothing his face into utter blankness once more, but not pulling from Zack's touch.

"I'm sorry," Zack repeated, drawing a glance from black eyes. "I'm really sorry. I should have found a way sooner." His free hand fisted, and he grit his teeth. Sephiroth let out a long breath of air, and slowly reached up towards his face, waiting for Zack to close the distance, which he did. The door before them started squealing open, and Sephiroth stroked a hand once through Zack's hair before letting his hand drop once more and turning forward. Zack relaxed a little. 'Apology accepted' floated unspoken and understood between them.

"This is as far as I'm going," Stentson said from ahead of them, breaking Zack from his thoughts, and reminding him that, for a while, at least, he and Sephiroth were not alone. "You won't come to another code locked door after this, but be careful. He usually guards this place more strictly when he's away." Zack nodded, releasing Sephiroth's arm to walk forward, hearing the blind man walk after him without missing a beat, but keeping a more exaggerated distance from Stentson.

"Thank you," Zack said softly. "I'm sorry for your daughter."

"She is the one that saved you," Stentson said, with firmness in his voice. "Isabella saved you. Remember that, Mr. Fair. Had she remained safe and healthy, I'd have ripped you apart." Zack looked him over, then nodded grimly, not doubting the words, and hating the world briefly for the truth in them.

"Keep going straight, and take all the stairs," Stentson instructed. "They'll lead you outside. Once out there, go down until you reach a gorge. To the west is a bridge, but they'll be waiting for you there. Go East. There's a traveler's bridge that's rickety enough that no one bothers with it. Knowing your luck, Mr. Fair, you might stand a chance in hell of getting out that way." Zack nodded again, let out a long breath, and drew the Buster sword.

"I'll remember that," he said, and he would. Whether he would follow the instruction was another matter. Stentson stepped away from the door, and Sephiroth swept up to Zack's side, letting the shorter man settle a hand on his forearm and cast one look back at the scientist.

"Thank Isabella for me," Zack instructed the man. "You'll see her before I do." He didn't keep watching to see if Stentson would nod, but pulled ahead with Sephiroth, taking the stairs behind the door with Buster in his hand and all his senses alert, not even bothering to wonder how Sephiroth managed to keep his feet without being able to see the stairs before him. He himself was having a difficult time with the dim lighting after being in the bright for so long, but in no way shape or form was he complaining.

The stairs weren't long, but there was a disturbingly frantic pant to Sephiroth's breaths that scared Zack beyond words. He swallowed, and forced himself to slow, only to receive a glare for Sephiroth at the slackening pace.

"I am—fine," he growled through his ragged breaths, shoving Zack ahead of him again without bothering to gentle the hit. Zack swallowed, and nodded, not that Sephiroth could see it, and led him up to the hallway, which actually had _art_ on the walls. Zack had no idea what the art was _of_, and it appeared to have all been rather cruelly abandoned, and for quite a long period of time, but it was still art. Or frames, at least. Sephiroth doubled over in a choking cough, and had to stop for a moment, growling in frustration over the noise, and biting his own hand to silence himself. Zack stared at him, but didn't argue. Making noise was definitely a bad survival choice.

Still, he rubbed a hand carefully over Sephiroth's back, carefully avoiding the burn marks left by Hojo's 'treatment.' The man ignored him completely, a muffled moan escaping him. When he finally regained the ability to breath without attempting to cough out his own lungs, he stumbled forward once more, drawing himself upwards to nearly his full height, his head still lowered slightly. Like the puppy he had once been called, Zack tagged after him, and took his arm to steer him around a broken statue that had fallen into the hallway.

"I guess I'm a seeing-eye puppy now," he muttered to himself, earning a half-amused death glare from Sephiroth, which brightened the mood between them ever so slightly. Zack's hand remained settled on Sephiroth's arm, and he did wish the man would lean on him as he watched his legs walk on steadily, and the fabric covering them shudder with minuscule shivers of weakness that hadn't stopped since he first stood. Zack swallowed and looked forward once more, hoping that burning the unnecessary energy expenditure wouldn't come back to kick Sephiroth in his admittedly beautiful ass.

Zack kicked the door in front of them down, and sliced through the shrieking beast that leapt at them without so much as a thought, only jumping after the creature was in two halves on the floor, and watching it to dissolve into the life stream with grim fascination.

"Wow," he whispered, "It's been a long time since I saw that..."

"A nibel wolf?" gasped Sephiroth horsely. Zack hummed in agreement, scuffing his foot where it once was."I am beginning to worry--" he trailed off into heavy breaths, and Zack swallowed and pulled him onwards. His newly sensitized ears picked up all sorts of noises now, that had been drowned out by the white noise of machinery below, and he was tense as a brick wall, head snapping towards each shuffle of feet on the ground, or low animal growl. Sephiroth didn't move in the slightest, and Zack had no idea whether it was because he was too exhausted to bother paying attention, or because he knew the creatures were not threats. Either way, Zack stayed alert to them, whether they proved to be dangerous or not. The fact that they had not yet been attacked again might have suggested they were, at large, not. $

The single swoop of his blade, though instinctual at the time, had heated Zack's blood. He felt suddenly incredibly powerful. He was _fighting_. Not while drugged, or while Sephiroth slumped on the floor, in danger of being ripped to shreds by monstrous chimeras designed by Doctor Creepy. He found himself very pleased with the feeling, and tightened his grip on his sword's hilt, hearing the soft creak of the grip under his hand over the harsh panting of Sephiroth. He turned to look over at him with a pleased grin, touching his arm again to draw him onwards. He was almost starting to hope that he would get to fight their way out, though he felt rather bad about it for Sephiroth's sake.

He wasn't sure why he chose to completely ignore the flock of bats that shrieked down the halls as he reached the next staircase, but he simply didn't react, and he certainly wasn't about to start doubting his instincts now. They had served him too well so far. Sephiroth flinched at the sound, and Zack didn't blame him, because without seeing the bunch of small rodents, the sound would have been quite loud and inexplicable.

"Damn bats," Zack said mildly as he took to the stairs, fighting to hold himself back to Sephiroth's pace rather than dashing up them as quickly as he was well aware he could. The silver general didn't comment. He rarely did when it would cause him trouble to do so, and judging by his breathing, Zack was relatively certain it would have been a bit of trouble. Walking, Sephiroth had been able to manage. More stairs were proving difficult. Zack winced at Sephiroth's every step, listening to the gasping breaths and feeling a phantom pull in his legs from imagined injuries like the ones he had found on Sephiroth.

Honest to Gaia, he wanted Hojo's blood. He had never been hungry for death until that man touched his life. Hollander's death, he was certain, would be enjoyable as well. In fact, he was starting to feel that anyone in a white coat might be worthy of death. Hojo especially, though. Zack swallowed, tightened his grip on Sephiroth's arm, and completely failed to fight off his memories.

It hadn't been enough that Hojo tortured Sephiroth relentlessly, and ripped him to pieces to satisfy his own curiosity. The extent of the damage done both to Sephiroth's body and mind hadn't been enough for him. The last night Zack had seen Sephiroth, before the man vanished for ten days, Sephiroth had been thrown back into the cell shattered, his stomach clenching with sobs, and a deep moan in his throat. Zack had instantly gone to him, only to be shoved away as Sephiroth scurried back. It had taken him the rest of the night to let Zack touch him again. It was only after the stigma wracked him that Zack found out what had happened.

_"He's my father,"' Sephiroth gasped, with the stigma dripping from his lips and chin. Zack frowned, and tilted his head ever so slightly. Sephiroth went no further, only curling in on himself where he sat, already slumped._

_ "Who is?" Zack felt bad for pressing, but Sephiroth had a bad habit of not speaking to _anyone_ about anything until he exploded unless he was pushed. Much like Zack himself, in fact. He wasn't prepared for the answer._

_ "Hojo," Sephiroth cried softly, the name falling like poison from his lips. His face looked hollow, and Zack couldn't help but fear that this had finally broken him. Without thought, he pulled him into a tight hug, on instinct, despite the fact that he was well aware Sephiroth usually didn't enjoy them. This time, however, the silver general crumpled into the embrace, his forehead braced on Zack's shoulder and his hands wrapping around him to cling to his only friend desperately._

_ "Gaia, Seph," Zack whispered, and could think of nothing more to say. All those years of torture, committed by his _father_!? All that hope that someone, somehow had always wished their child a better life... all burned away in one afternoon. Zack pressed a kiss to that head of silver hair, and shuddered at the sound of a dark, burbling laugh strangling out of Sephiroth's throat._

_ "I don't know," the broken man said, with a hysterical laugh still hiding under his words, "which one of them made me go insane. My mother or my father." Both words were spoken with a lifetime of rage under them, and Zack had flinched at the mention of Jenova as Sephiroth's mother. No matter how frequently they argued over it, Sephiroth refused to think of her as anything other than that. _

_ The general broke down into wrenching screams of laughter, which were as close to sobs as Zack had ever heard the man come. Sephiroth had fallen asleep limp in Zack's lap, his mouth still twisted in the misery of the discovery._

Zack shuddered at the realization that he had not yet had time to argue with Sephiroth on the point of his sanity and parentage. The man was already so unstable that Zack feared the final revelation might push him over the edge. It chilled him slightly to realize that it might have, and he would not know it, but the thought was driven from his mind once more almost instantly.

He stopped thinking about anything at all when he saw the door in front of them. There appeared to be _light_ coming from behind it, and any wondering about Sephiroth's sanity took a back seat. Zack tightened his hand on his blade once more, gave Sephiroth's arm a brief squeeze, and a double pat, and went ahead of him, up the stairs in a flash, and not bothering to use the doorknob. He kicked the door down with ease and a grin.

And was greeted with the sight of pure white on white, and a chill that went straight down into his bones.


	17. The Wind's Singing

Chapter Seventeen—The Wind's Singing

"Fucking shit," muttered Zack numbly to himself as the first few flakes of snow blasted over and behind him, settling on his face and in his hair.

"Zackary?" Sephiroth called questioningly from behind him. Over his voice, Zack heard the creak of a trigger being squeezed before him, and without thought stepped out into the blizzard and slammed the door shut behind him. The shot buried itself harmlessly beside Zack's temple in the door and Zack caught his breath, pulling Buster off his back, his breath misting in he air, and already heavy as he realized he couldn't see them. Whoever he was fighting, he couldn't see them. He couldn't see _anything_, in fact. The white sky blended into the white ground without apparent seams. He couldn't even distinguish the snowflakes landing in heavy, wet globs on his skin from the background.

He turned slowly, looking around at the landscape around him, and heard behind him Sephiroth calling for him through the door, the tones of his voice firm, but with a softly panicked edge. Zack apologized silently as he moved forward, sword drawn, listening to the wail of the wind, and his own heavy breathing. He tried to tone out his friend's voice, still calling out his name, and already almost lost in the white noise of the storm. Zack turned in a wide circle once more, listening closely for the signs of another human, and greeted only by the roar of wind and the soft slapping of new, wet snow falling onto the already thick coating on the ground (Zack's boots were almost completely covered by the stuff.)

Another out-of place noise came, and Zack whirled in time to see a dark shape speeding out of the snow towards him. he lashed out without thought, and caught the opponent's blade with the flat of Buster in an awkward parry that made him stumble on the slick ground. By the time he recovered his balance, his opponent had vanished again into the mist and roar off the storm. Zack stopped moving, and stood stock still, letting the snow pile up around his feet, and fill in the footprints behind him. He forced himself not to hold his breath in an attempt to hear his opponents, and blinked quickly, sending tears down his face from the sheer harshness of the cold and bitter wind. Another click sounded to the right, and Zack whirled, shielding himself behind his sword and feeling the sword jerk in his hand as it sent the bullets scattering from a semi-automatic weapon. The fire stopped abruptly, and Zack, having nothing better to do, charged forward until he could distinguish a dark figure through the blizzard, and swung hard.

There was something extremely satisfying about the spray of blood that splattered across his face. Also something exceedingly gross, but he chose to ignore that for now. The body crumpled before him, and the head, still helmeted, rolled a few feet away. Zack turned back to the blizzard, panting softly, with a smile on his face and his eyes darting intensely but blankly across the frozen battle field.

The swordsman returned with the faintest of a crunch, the sound of his feet hitting the snow, and Zack barely deflected the slash again, and caught a bullet in the back the moment he did. He ignored it completely, and did not loose his footing this time, striding forward after blocking the weaker warrior's blow to slash his enormous sword through the trooper's torso. Twice, for good measure. Even as the pieces were falling to the ground, Zack whirled to dash towards the one who had tagged him from behind (feeling the wound close around the bullet) and managed to completely loose his balance on the ice the moment he reached him. Fortunately, guns are not made for close combat, and by the time the gunman caught up and tried to aim at him down the long barrel, Zack had already sliced his gun in half and taken him out as well.

Then it fell silent again, and Zack stood in the blood stained snow, and wondered how he would know when it was over. The body next to him reeked, steaming in the frozen air, and Zack waited, keeping his breath deep and even, though he wanted nothing more than to duck inside his shirt and gasp for a breath of air that didn't make his throat burn with its harshness. The snow stung his face, and Buster was heavy and cold in his hands, the blood of his assailants dripping from the wide sword to splatter, gruesomely, in the snow.

His gaze slid over to the blade on it, and swallowed heavily, thinking of Stentson and wondering if he had just stolen away some nameless child's mother or father (he hadn't cared enough to consider whether it was one or the other. After all, he knew, you didn't have to be stable and sane to be someone's parent. You only had to look at Hojo to know that.

His blood turned as cold as the air around him. Hojo. And whose father was he? Zack whirled, looking around himself, and found himself surrounded entirely by white. He couldn't see his own footprints well enough to trace them, and he knew he'd moved fast enough that they'd be few and far between. There was no sign of the door he'd come through.

"Damn," he hissed softly. "Angeal was so right. I'm way the hell too impulsive." He whirled around in a circle again, heard the cock of a gun, and slid forward to cut the gunman down, sending the world once more into the roaring silence of the storm. He heard a sound like thunder, and realized after a moment that it was a helicopter. He dove into the nearest shape that appeared to be a mound of snow, and managed to conceal himself relatively well, but not before slamming his head on a hard wall. He resisted the urge too rub his hair in pain, and instead held utterly still until the thunder of chopper blades faded to nothing again. Then he stood, shaking himself off and shuddering as he felt the wet, cold water melting through his clothes to cling to his skin. He didn't allow himself to think about it, instead pressing both hands to the wall and closing his eyes, trying to cut out the distractions of trying to see through his damaged eyes, and zoning out the sound of the blizzard once more.

His hands were numb, and the wall was ridiculously cold, and Buster's hilt was impeding one hand's placement. It would have been much more efficient to sheath the blade and then continue, but Zack was not about to do that. He had no idea how many people were still out there, and however many they were, they no doubt knew that Zack was out by now. Zack only hoped that didn't mean they had caught up with Sephiroth as well.

Which brought him back to his purpose. With a mental slap and shake of his head, Zack focused again, and found what he was searching for. A faint rhythmic vibration finally reached his frozen fingers, and Zack grinned faintly, and really hoped that he was right and that was Sephiroth. He slid his hand over the rough, old wall and tried to figure out which direction it was coming from. There was no discernible difference, but he trusted his instincts and picked left. It was as good a guess as any, and when the rhythm got stronger (and, he noticed, more irregular,) he nodded to himself in appreciation for the heightened senses he didn't always understand and couldn't always read.

He started walking in that direction, senses opening once again to the storm to make sure he didn't get killed before he reached his friend. $ The wind bit at his cheeks and eyes, making him wish _he_ had an ugly ass trooper helmet to cut down on the wind. But then he wouldn't be able to hear anything but the mechanics in he thing, and that would be far from helpful. Beneath his fingers, the pounding went doggedly on, weakening and strengthening, but getting progressively closer. When Zack had decided he was nearly there, the pounding stopped. He froze on the spot.

"Shit," he whispered softly, turning to fully face the wall again, hands pressing a little more firmly to the cold stone, but feeling only his own pulse thrum through them. He couldn't hear the sounds of a fight, but then, if Hojo had caught up with his friend, Seph wouldn't have stood a chance... He forced himself not to run, keeping his hands careful on the wall, never mind that they were shaking now in utter horror and fear. The pounding was _definitely _gone. He hadn't just lost the feel of it. One final heavy thump from the direction, and all went still, except for the howling of the blizzard around him. Zack scowled, his heart in his throat, and automatically stuffing down the panic urging him to just cut down the wall and level the place looking for his friend. That would almost certainly be the entirely wrong answer. It was awfully tempting though.

Instead, Zack continued to trail his fingers over the snow crusted wall, watching his breath mist, and freeze, and trembling with a tense fear. Right when he was sure he must have missed the door, and was about to turn around, his fingers brushed over a joint in the stone, and felt a different, smoother texture. He wasted no time in shoving Buster into the crack and prying it open like an oyster. The reek of blood filled the air, and he realized that the first body he had taken out must be very near by.

The door fell of its hinges with one last moan of protest and tilted into the snow with a muffled thud. To Zack's immense relief, Sephiroth was there. He was not, however, looking too good. For one thing, he was giving Zack the angriest look Zack had ever received in his life, and for another...

It was hard for Zack to describe the way Sephiroth looked in that moment, but it reminded him very much of a time in his childhood, when a circus-like show had come through Gongaga. One of the tents had been full of wax figurines, which were not built for the heat. Their realistic skin had been wet and seemed to sag off of their implied bones, and no matter what color they had been before coming to the jungle town, they had turned a pale, ugly grey the moment the heat started reaching them. Zack remembered it as less of a wax museum, and more of a horror show. And when he looked down at Sephiroth, slumped against the wall with an expression of rage on his face, and his skin grey and damp with sweat, he remembered them vividly.

"Zackary," the man growled, and Zack almost tensed for a fight before he looked down at his skeletal, trembling hands, and at his own frozen ones and huffed out a breath, going down on one knee next to his friend and taking his face in both hands to press a kiss to his forehead, drawing a grunt of half-confusion half-annoyance from Sephiroth.

"Not now," he said carefully, watching Sephiroth's eyes flicker behind him at the feel of cold air. "We've gotta go. I think I've gotten most of the guys outside, but we gotta go quick before more show up, okay?" His only answer was a grunt of effort as Sephiroth shoved himself to his feet, without accepting Zack's help, only shrugging him off.

"Snow?" he questioned as he turned to the door.

"A damn blizzard," Zack replied. "I'm as blind as a bat out there." Sephiroth huffed out a brief breath.

"Then we will have to rely on other senses," he stated calmly. Zack was still looking him over when the taller man strode past him into the knee-deep snow (which only came up to mid-calf on the tall bastard, Zack noticed with a snicker.) Never one to be left out, Zack hurried behind, latching onto Seph's arm with his free hand, filled with the knowledge that if they were to be separated, neither of them was likely to find the other. And Sephiroth's distinct hair would not be very helpful for spotting him in a snow storm.

Sephiroth trudged onwards, unerringly, never deviating from a straight-ahead path, and if he had any sight at all, it was turned forwards. Zack wouldn't have been able to tell if they were walking in circles, but he refused to worry about it. He had his blade. Even if they ended up back in the mansion somehow, he was _never_ going in that room again, and as he glanced over at Sephiroth's stern face, and the damaged eyes, and the ugly, red burn mark that showed through his hair when the wind blew the silver mass back behind him, or twisting like a living thing around his face, forcing him to reach up and pull it back with a trembling hand.

If they ended up back there, there was no doubt in Zack's mind that either Sephiroth or himself would end it. He couldn't face another day of white walls, and pain, and effort for nothing. To live in Hojo's home was to be dead. No, if they got caught again, Zack would not live to be in that white room once more. And he knew without a fact that if he died, Sephiroth would as well. So he turned back to the storm, and solidified his mind against the blizzard and whatever enemies might come their way. He was not going to let them be captured, because he was not going to let Sephiroth die. Not when they were so very close to freedom. Even if freedom was really really fucking cold.

"Stop day dreaming," Sephiroth instructed, and Zack snapped himself out of it, focusing once again on the howling world around them, and listening for the roar of a helicopter, or the click of a gun. Instead, after a few more moments of trudging along in silence, he was greeted with the sudden appearance of silence. It was such a startling change Zack nearly fell over. Then, thanks to the fact that under the snow was a solid layer of ice, he _did_ fall over, and straight into the snow with a thick _paff_. Sephiroth's snicker was not lost on him.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, you..." Zack forgot what he was going to say when he turned to lift his face from the snow and saw for the first time, in the break in the storm, the building they were leaving behind them. Sephiroth frowned and turned to face him, his boots crunching in the snow.

"Zackary?" he queried. Zack let out a bark of laughter that was half sob.

"Guess what, Seph," he choked out past the bitterness that threatened to strangle him. "I know where we are," Sephiroth shifted in the snow, waiting for an explanation, but took a step back when Zack started laughing madly. The first couldn't help it. It was too fucking horrible, and too damned perfect. He looked up to his confused, empty-eyed and tortured friend, and laughed.

"We've been in the fucking Nibelheim Mansion."

Sephiroth was silent for a long moment, and while he stood with a distant expression on his face, snow that had previously whipped past them settled on his leather jacket. Zack sat on the wet, hard ground and laughed until he cried,shaken to the core by the familiarity of the hated mansion, and how recent the memory seemed. The must have been imprisoned just under the library of books that had driven Sephiroth over the brink. In the same mountain range as the reactor where Cloud had been murd—died all those years ago. His laughter officially crossed the border from sorrowful to manic, and made him choke on his own breath. he doubled over on himself, seated in the snow, cold, and miserable, and broken, and maybe five miles at most from where he had fallen that fateful day. And he had been there for four years, while the world moved on. While a stranger's daughter grew up and died. Probably while Aerith moved on with her life, never knowing that Zack still dreamed of her ni9ght and day. He sobbed harshly, moving to hide his face in his hands, but was abruptly interrupted by the extention of a tapering, porcelainhand into his field of vision. He looked up, sniffling, his eyes burning with salt water in the cold air.

"We should move on," Sephiroth said, his gaze fixed on the horizon opposite the mansion and his expression as calm and impassive as if Zack had just told him that it wasn't snowing as hard anymore.

"We need to have as much distance between us and that place as possible by nightfall," he continued, his voice still level. Zack gaped at him, and Sephiroth glanced back with a faint smile on his lips. Zack was unsure whether to be furious with him for not reacting badly to the information, or really really fucking happy he didn't explode. he settled for taking the hand,and trying not to pull the taller man over into the snow while regaining his own footing. In the end, both of them stumbled into one another,and Zack broke into a more honest laugh, stepping away without hugging Sephiroth only because the stiffness of his stance plainly said he was still in pain from what Hojo had done to him. It didn't stop him from enjoying the rush of heat and contact, and the laugh seemed to lighten Sephiroth somehow. Zack could practically see a shadow lighten in his eye. Which was, of course, a metaphor, because Zack couldn't see much of anything, and Sephiroth's eyes were nothing but shadow.

The calm in the storm lasted only moments, but they were moments spent attempting to find a way through the snow. Eventually, it ended up with Zack in front, despite his shorter stature, and Sephiroth following in the wake he made in the snow, which effectively kept them together, compensated for Sephiroth's blindness, and made it a little easier for the weak man to forge his way onwards. And since they had been walking gripped side-by-side before, it was no harder on Zack. In fact, considering his condition, he was feeling particularly competent and powerful today. And it was day, he thought triumphantly. He was certain for the first time in years. it was daytime, and the sun was out, even if it was hidden behind layers and layers of pure white clouds. It wasn't helpful, but it was still there.

The wind caught up to them quickly, howling around them, with such force and disorganization that Zack sometimes felt Sephiroth's hair fly forward to whip briefly against his cheek. Which was pretty damned impressive. Buster was starting to become a slightly uncomfortable weight instead of a comforting one, but Zack took that only as a sign that though most of him was in better shape than he ever had been, his swordsmanship skills would be more than a little rusty, in the long run, as naturally as the blade had fit in his hands only moments before.

He started counting his steps again, which he had never done before the lab, but was ingrained into him when he had nothing else to concentrate on. The monotony of it drew his mind away from pain, and the numbness creeping into his fingers. He briefly considered whether he should alter the count based on the fact that he was having to severely shorten his steps to make it through the snow, but decided against it easily. The point was to distract himself, not drive himself crazy. He stuck to counting in whole numbers, adding a half now and then when he stumbled, and straining his ears to hear Sephiroth's ragged breathing behind him, coupled with strange, choking noises that escaped him once in a while before falling back into the rhythm of rasping gasps.

Two hundred steps, and Sephiroth finally gave out. Zack wouldn't even have noticed, the wind having all but deafened him to the rasping breaths, but the whimpering, cracked sound that escaped Sephiroth had been escaping him once every five steps or so, and when it was absent, Zack turned quickly to find his friend nothing but a blurry lump of black leather crumpled in the track they had worn, and already being covered by a thin, clumped layer of wet snow. Zack ran to his side and turned him, pulling his face off the hard, ice-like snow that they were able to stand on. His lips were blue-tinted, even to Zack, and the gargling breaths implied that it would not be long before the stigma took hold. They needed shelter, and quickly. Praying for luck, and knowing if he stopped too long the sweat on his skin would freeze him to death, Zack grabbed Sephiroth, hauling him up and hooking one long arm around his neck while gripping his slim waist.

He trudged onwards, unsure whether he was going in the best direction, or whether he and his best friend were going to die out here, free, but stranded. He was so concentrated, he almost didn't notice when the ground before him suddenly gaped open in a wide yawn of blackness. He jerked back, hauling Sephiroth's dead weight with him, and staring at the gorge. He turned slowly, looking up and down the gap in search of the bridge he had been told of, and saw nothing but darkness. So much for luck.

He swallowed, backed a little further from the ledge, in case the ground at the edge was unstable, and started walking, more slowly with the weight of both Buster and Sephiroth leaning on him. It didn't help that if he held Sephiroth wrong or let his grip slip, Masamune nipped at his heels. If Sephiroth hadn't been so _happy_ to see the thing, Zack would have been tempted to leave it behind. But if it made Seph happy, it was worth a bloody ankle or two.

There were no perfect rock caves near by, and Zack quietly cursed the Nibel mountains for their lack of Deus ex Machinas. He could feel his body trying to give out on him as his muscles wore out, and he had to move more slowly, and by moving more slowly, he was exposed to more cold. A vicious and incredibly not-cool cycle. Eventually he faltered, stumbling and falling, with Sephiroth a dead weight beside him, shuddering fiercely at the contact with the snow, as though he might break to pieces at any moment. Zack struggled to rise, and for just a moment the memory of hard stairs under his hands was so vivid he could almost see the black metal interior of the reactor superimposed on the snow before him.

As it had been then, he could not rise, and Zack had to bite back a scream that was more a sob than anything else. More than the world, he wanted to be back home. The taste of freedom he had been given was not enough. He forced himself further onwards, unable to rise, so crawling instead, hauling Sephiroth behind by his infamous jacket, ignoring his pained whimpers. Before them, it was almost like he could see Shinra Corporation's main building, with the shadows of those who had once known him waiting outside for him. He struggled forward, with the memory of Aerith's warm eyes beckoning him, and Reno snickering at his pathetic attempt at movement. And though he knew he wasn't there, he could have sworn he saw Angeal walk forward from the crowd to put a hand on his head as he struggled onwards, his eyes and face solemn as ever, but the affection in them shining as clear as day. Zack felt tears well in his eyes as the snow burned his body with cold from every side.

"'Geal," he whispered. The hand in his hair stroked across the frozen spikes, and his mentor, the man who had sworn once they were equals they could be so much more. It was the only time he had promised him something and not followed through.

"Be strong," the dream answered, "You're not alone." There was a long pause as Zack slumped slowly to the ground, feeling consciousness fading and hauling Sephiroth up to slump bonelessly at his side. He was like a furnace in the frozen wasteland, and Zack knew he was the same when Sephiroth, dead to the world, curled around him automatically. The hand hadn't left his hair, and Zack let out a breath, the tears finally falling form his eyes, stinging in the cold, even as he lay in the little trench he'd created with their trek, safe at least from the wind.

"I'm sorry, 'Geal," he whispered brokenly, unsure of whether the words actually left his mouth or not. There was a moment of pure silence following it, and for a second, in his mind, Zack found himself encased in the strong arms of his mentor, feeling the stubble on his chin lightly scraping his forehead, and the thunder of his heartbeat under his chest. "I tried so hard..." a kiss pressed itself to his temple, and Zack squeezed his eyes shut, silently begging the image not to abandon him.

"Don't talk like you've failed when you haven't, pup," the voice he remembered so well rumbled. "Don't give up now when you're so close. You're not just protecting yourself." For a moment more, it was just the two of them, and then the heavy scent of the man who had made Zack who he was faded like a memory into the familiar smell of Sephiroth, slightly unpleasant from their capture, but with the undertones of his own identity hidden underneath. Zack pulled him a little closer into his arms and burrowed his face in the crook of his neck, feeling the fluttering heartbeat under the skin in his neck, and the faint goosebumps risen on the pale skin.

"It's not just me..." he whispered softly. His hands tightened on the leather. "I killed the last person who meant this much to me, Seph," he croaked softly. "And you did the same to yours." He didn't allow himself to be bothered by the fact that he was crying onto that frozen, pale skin and that hair already like a snow fall.

"I'm going to save you," he whispered softly. "I'm not a hero, but I'm going to save _you. _Hold me to it. I'm not losing you too." A soft murmur escaped Sephiroth, that might have been an attempt at Zack's name, but Zack was already slipping away from consciousness, curled up with Sephiroth, and with the memory of Angeal awake and alive in his mind.

"You are a hero, pup," a voice whispered on the wind. "The problem with being a hero is that you'll never see it yourself." Zack never decided whether or not that was a dream.


	18. Multifoliate Rose

**A/N: *Sigh* So I get the feeling you guys might be loosing a little interest in the story, huh. Well, hang in there a little longer. Our heroes have a few more hurdles to overcome before I'm finished with them! I hope you guys like this one, and if you're displeased with how the story's been going, let me know!**

**One final note. I must thank Martin and Kessler's Neurologic Interventions for Physical Therapy. Its a fabulously helpful book, and gave me a lot of information on coma patients. Turns out the soap operas have it a little wrong... so do I, of course, but I hope you'll forgive the ineptitude with which I handled such a serious and terrifying subject. I highly recommend doing some research. It's truly fascenating!**

**With much love to all you readers, I give you the beginning of the end. I still do not own FFVII!  
**

Chapter Eighteen—Multifoliate Rose

Reno was in the act of rhythmically thumping his head against his desk, and was finding the task startlingly soothing. Aerith would probably stop him soon—the office had been a little less fun since Rufus invited her to stay for a while—but until she did, the desk would feel his wrath. The urge to cackle manically was systematically squashed, because Tseng was having a hard enough time remembering how to sign his name, and didn't need Reno confusing the fuck out of him with his bizarre behavior.

It was fucking good to have his face back in the office, but while the others seemed to accept the changes in Tseng quickly and easily, Reno was going out. Of. His. Mind. He'd obviously been out of the slums for too long. He'd gotten used to cures working magic on the injured, but as it turned out, full blown comas were not a quick fix. Reno had thought things would get better when Tseng woke up. It had been very much the opposite. He'd been hazy for the first few days. Just barely opening his eyes, and all but unresponsive to anything but the simplest commands. 'Move your fingers' had been the first words he responded to, and it had hurt Reno somehow that they had been from a stranger, even though he knew he ought to be happy that Tseng was responsive at all. It had been another month before he reached the next stage in cognizances. It was the only month that Reno stopped his daily visits to the man who had saved him from a very short life of drug abuse and gang wars.

It turns out, as he learned so vividly, that even the most stoic man looses control when he's regaining his mental facilities. The nurses and doctors all told him it was perfectly normal, but that hadn't made it any easier to take when he'd walked into the room to find Tseng screaming obscenities to the sky like a cracked-out teenager having a temper tantrum. Reno had been too stunned to move from the doorway, and had watched in horror and amazement as the man who had so far done little more than placidly follow every direction given to him since his injury shrieked in undeniable and incomprehensible rage. He had moved forward, to stop him, but been waved down by the attendant standing nearby. 'It's a good sign,' she had informed him cheerfully as the screaming morphed into hysterical laughter at a joke no one but the brain-injured Turk knew. 'It means he's still improving."

Improving or not, Reno left he room with his stoic empty-eyed boss laughing so hard there were tears on his cheeks, and didn't return until Rude told him it was safe to do so. By the time he came back, he'd taken it upon himself to learn the stages of someone in Tseng's condition so he would know what to be ready for. Of course, most of his learning had been done while waiting for something to happen out on the field, but it was learning none the less. His book had the bullet hole to show for it too. Damn snipers.

"Reno," Rufus's voice warned from nearby. Reno ignored it in favor of continuing the steady motion of head to desk. He hadn't sounded pissed off yet, so it wasn't an order. Just an acknowledgment of the fact that he was being annoying. Not that Reno was performing the ancient ritual of head-desking just to annoy the boss-man. In fact, if anything, they'd all gotten fonder and more protective of Rufus since he took over Tseng's post. Partially because, in truth, Rufus's aide got more done as vice president than Rufus ever had, and also because Rufus was good at it. He knew the strengths and weaknesses of everyone on the team—knew what it took to make them happy, and what they could and could not handle. The president seemed to think that they were either intended as a team of mechanical robot super-warriors, or a bunch of pawns to be thrown around. Neither of which, of course, was true. The turks were good at what they were trained for. Which was espionage, assassination, infiltration, kidnapping, protection and, sometimes, torture. A long and complicated list, to be sure, but not one on which the clause 'and able to fight off heavily altered and incredibly powerful monsters' was implied.

But he strayed from topic, he reminded himself as his forehead made solid contact with wood once more, this time making a hollow thunk that he could still almost hear Goldenrod rib him over. _('Honey, was that your head, or the desk that made that hollow sound just now?')_ He wasn't the only one who missed their lost friends, he knew, but even the camaraderie of it didn't help. But Rufus... Rufus was quite possibly one of the strongest assets they had in their favor. Not only had the kid managed to talk Lazard into a partnership between Soldier and the Turks that had saved a good many of their lives, but he'd even stood up to his father—president Shinra himself—in order to keep all of them safe. They had a feeling from his stiff walk the next day that he'd paid for it as well. Rupert Shinra was not exactly a paragon of gentle parenthood.

So Rufus had saved them, and Tseng had recovered, intensely slowly, and in staggering steps, relearning how to do everything from tie his shoes to sign his name. He was still working on not pissing everyone around him the fuck off part. With each step, the nurses and doctors had warned them that at any moment his improvement might just stop. That the physical damage might have been too much for the brilliant mind beneath it. Yet Tseng had continued, his left eye never quite focusing on anything, but the shaking slowly leaving his hands, and the words he had lost slowly returning to him. It had been strange to watch him recover everything but his stoic calm. Tseng had never struck any of the men and women who followed him as emotional, but as he regained himself slowly they were privy to a level of humanity they had never wanted to know in their leader.

And he hadn't been able to freak out, Reno thought to himself with a silent moan of distaste. Because some bloody bastard of a Wutaian had made him second in command before getting himself half-killed, and even with Rufus in charge, Reno was being leaned on. Why the bastard couldn't have picked someone actually reliable like Rude was beyond Reno's understanding, but it was him who stayed up with Leo at nights and clasped a hand on his shoulder, letting him break down for a moment so that his masks would be firmer the next day—him who made Elana tea when she looked like she couldn't go on any further and covered for Cissnei when she just couldn't bring herself to get out of bed in the morning. He had never done more work, and through it all he had gone to see Tseng every day.

It wasn't that he hadn't broken down. He had done so twice since Tseng came back. Not to Rude, as everyone expected, but to Aerith, when she forced him into it, confronting him with a list of losses, and griefs that he had to be hiding, and once... once when he had walked into the room, and Tseng had looked up and spoken his name, in a soft, awed sort of voice that Reno hadn't understood in the slightest. He also had no idea why he broke right there in the door, with Rude's hand on his shoulder and a hundred strangers close enough that they could have seen.

It hadn't helped when the first tear streaked down Tseng's cheek, and a slim, twitching hand extended towards him, an IV wound over the back of those delicate knuckles. Reno had gone to him, because what else could he do, when greeted like that, and they had held hands for a full hour without speaking a word, Tseng's aphasia stealing his words, and Reno's misery stealing his. When the wounded man fell asleep once more, Reno had left, broken hearted and confused, and neither of those feelings had left him since that day.

It had been hell being around Tseng recently. He was close to the end of his recovery, and had regained enough of his mind to be frustrated with his own impotence, and still not quite far enough along to have his people skills back, so he was tending towards truthfulness a little more than any of the turks enjoyed in conversation. Despite all appearances, being told by your boss that you were useless and damaged was less than fun, even if you knew he wouldn't normally say it. Reno clenched his fist in the fabric of his expensive and quickly tattering suit.

And still, he was there for them all. Even for Aerith, who despite all her wonderful qualities was _not_ a saint. Even she had broken, eventually, and Reno, unfortunately, had managed to be good enough at leadership that she felt safe breaking to him. The conversation was burned into his memory, as all of them were. The only ones who wouldn't confide in him, or at least hadn't, were Claire and Rude. They were both experienced, and hardened, and even though the situation was bleak, they couldn't go against their training. It was ingrained into them to stay rigid as a board.

Aerith hadn't broken down over Tseng, though, which had almost been a relief. That day especially, Reno didn't think he could handle one more thing with the Wutaian's name in it. That tended to happen when he started the day with the wounded man throwing an ink well at his head for 'coddling him.' He hadn't apologized either. He didn't understand the necessity yet, and the promises of 'he'll feel bad about it later' from the nurses and Rufus did _not_ make it better. No, it wasn't Tseng that had broken Aerith. It was Zack.

"Do you think I'm an idiot?" she had asked him one day, sitting across the desk from him as he quickly went through the mission reports and requests stacked and layered before him. He had frowned, and looked up at her, only to find those sparkling eyes full of doubt and uncertainty, which set warning bells off in his head instantly. He had paused for a long moment before responding, tapping the end of his pen against the same desk he was now head-butting repeatedly.

"That a trick question, yo?" he had asked, desperately hoping that the mood wasn't becoming the one he thought. To his horror, Aerith had started crying—quietly and softly, as though she was shattering. He'd heaved a sigh, placed his pen down, and stood, walking around the desk to stand at her side. She had stayed still, bowing her head, and Reno studied the tense grip of her hands, clasped together desperately in her lap. He licked his lips, bit back a sigh, and very very carefully put a hand on her shoulder, unsure whether she would bite it off or not.

"He's not coming back, is he?" She had asked, voice thick and watery with sorrow. Reno had gone stiff and still. Aerith's knuckles were turning white. "I've been writing a letter every week, because I—I promised, Reno, but... they're all in Tseng's office. In a box. Sealed up, and waiting for him, and I think... I think he'll never read them."

Reno swallowed again, and forced back emotion, tightening his grip, and wishing he could disagree. He didn't have much hope left for anyone. Especially not a young man who had disappeared four years ago, but he couldn't bring himself to tell Aerith that. Not when she looked so wounded. He closed his eyes for a long moment, forcing fear for Tseng and anger to the back of his mind.

"Sure he will, Aer," he said softly, and he heard her breath hitch vulnerably. "He's way too tough. No way he's gone for real." She only shook her head, and no matter how many times Reno tried to convince her, she had only shaken her head again, and fallen silent for the rest of the evening. Eventually, he had stopped trying to draw her out, and just let her cry, keeping her company until the sun rose and he had to go back to being a stern and strong Turk. The first words from someone not Aerith that morning were from Tseng, telling him he looked like shit, and that he expected more from a Turk with his experience than to stay up all night coddling someone. Reno had nearly thrown his paper weight at his boss in hopes he might go back to lying quietly on his bed and not making him feel like a wad of slum dirt on the floor.

It hadn't gotten better. Aerith had stopped writing to Zack, but hadn't spoken of him again. Tseng had constantly pissed off at least three people to the breaking point each day, and Rufus was fighting tooth and nail to keep everything as stable as possible. Even as he tried to keep everyone happy, he himself was starting to feel the stress of having his hero and true father figure awake again and still not himself.

Reno missed a beat in his rhythm when someone placed a palm in his head's path, and let his forehead slap against their hand instead of wood. Reno looked up with a scowl to see Kunsel smiling faintly down at him.

"Hey, little buddy," the Soldier said cheerfully. Reno flipped him off, and Kunsel laughed softly. "No kiss hello, then?"

"Fuck off, Kuns," Reno groused, crossing his arms and sitting back in his chair. It didn't escape his notice that Aerith let out a breath in the corner. Kunsel's hand found his forehead again, but this time just to ruffle his unruly hair.

"Sorry, baby, no can do. You're 'acting head turk,' as Arlen says," his voice deepened when imitating his commanding officer, but Reno knew for a fact that Mary did a better impression of the burly commander. It drew the faintest of smiles to his face. "And I need you to sign off on my report of the mission last weak. You remember, Cluster Fuck sixty four?" Reno's lips twitched again, and it was startling how much more alive he felt with the buoyant second-class egging him on.

"Yeah, I remember, yo. Just drop 'em off. I'll get it done."

"You'll get forehead prints all over 'em," Kunsel complained. "Lemme take you out tonight, Sparky."

"Sparky?" Claire repeated in stunned amusement from across the room. Reno wrinkled his nose and stuck his tongue out at her. Kunsel seemed to take pleasure in the nickname, though.

"Of course," he said to Claire cheerfully. "We're official friends with benefits! Gotta have cutesy nicknames." Reno shot him a glare that was only a little bit real warning.

"Give me the damn papers before you shoot my reputation all to hell, yo," he ordered. Kunsel passed them over with a laugh, and made his way out of the office again. They weren't really friends with benefits anymore. Every once in a while, they would touch, and kiss, but they'd stopped going all the way two years ago or so. Neither of them had felt quite right about taking out their slight, silent crushes on each other. Not after they started liking one another for who they really were, instead of out of loneliness without Zack. He inhaled deeply, letting Kunsel's light perk him up, and forcing himself not to go back to brooding. He turned to start reading the papers when something shattered in the office.

It wasn't particularly unusual these days to hear the breaking of glass from Tseng's office, but it _was_ strange to hear it when Rufus was with him, which, at the moment, he was. Not for long, though, for even as Reno stood in worry to move to the office, the door slammed open, and an incredibly irritable Tseng swept out.

"New mission," he snapped. "The president has given it top priority. Leave, Aerith. The rest of you into the meeting room." His orders were followed without question. The fact that he had changed, and was both more human and less likable hadn't taken away any of his power. When he was snapping, everyone did as he said. It was a survival skill. Reno gave Aerith a fleeting glance of apology, and was met with the woman's small smile. Tseng seemed to be especially harsh with Aerith now, but when he had first woken up, when he was all of the kindest, strangest parts of himself, he had confessed quietly that he considered her very special, and for the first time they had known what they suspected. Tseng did what he did for Aerith not for purely altruistic motives. He wanted her too. It was no wonder that now he had realized he couldn't have her he was less than happy.

Rude walked over to Reno, and the redhead instantly slumped in relaxation at the introduction of his other half to the equation. Rude and Reno, he thought with a snicker. Polar opposites in every way, and destined to work together. After all, who else would be able to handle the other? The bigger man shot him a glance from the side of his sunglasses, and Reno had to grin briefly at him. He knew for a fact there was at least one more pair of those glasses hidden in his partner's chest pocket. Just in case Reno ever broke another pair.

The turks were silent as they moved to the meeting room. With an easily frustrated and viciously truthful leader, each of them had become more close-lipped with their secrets and missions, even to each other. They assembled quietly, and it was obvious to everyone there how much roomier the space was than it had been years ago. It was no longer just a meeting room. It was a constant, painful reminder of how many turks there once were. Reno watched them all assemble and swallowed. Every time he saw them all together, they looked more haggard, and worn. Even with all of their efforts, if the president kept pushing them, they were going to loose someone, no matter how many Soldiers volunteered in their minuscule amounts of spare time to try and keep them safe (which none of them would have ever thought possible before the tentative relationship between the organizations started) eventually, someone would slip.

The room was eerily quiet, and Reno had the brief urge to burst into song, or start screaming obscenities slowly increasing in volume, just to break the silence. Rufus walked in before he had a chance to give into his more idiotic urges. He had a stack of papers in hand, and his hair was hanging loosely about his shoulders. His neatness had taken a turn for the worse recently, with Tseng to worry after and almost the entirety of mission planning falling on his shoulders. Reno swore he'd even seen the kid in sweat pants once.

They all got out of his way as he went to the front of the room, placing the papers down on the table with a heavy thud, and turning to face them. None of them questioned Tseng's absence. He no longer did well in crowded spaces. Even if they were full of friends. Rufus ran both hands through his hair, drawing it briefly away from his face in its usual slicked-back style. Of course, the moment he dropped his hands, the blonde strands flopped back into his eyes. He didn't seem to care terribly much. Everyone held their breath.

"You're all aware of the lab in Nibelheim?" He queried, already knowing the answer. No one bothered nodding. The generation of Turks before them had helped to build it. Thorn's robotic hand tapped twice on the desk before falling still again. He gave it a look that clearly said he hadn't intended the thing to do that. He was furious about his hand's new built in tells, and worked tirelessly to cancel them out. Reno went back to ignoring him and looking at Rufus. The boy composed himself, sat down and faced the room at large, his eyes calm and his posture relaxed. To the Turks who had all but raised him, and were the closest the young heir got to an actual family, it was a blatant lie.

"The president has handed down a top priority mission," he said, and Reno smiled to himself faintly at the deep voice the boy always assumed for speaking in front of groups. Not that he was really a boy anymore. The past four years had aged him more than the previous sixteen had managed combined. It was no use, though. For the Turks who had known him as a spoiled brat, he would forever be a ten year old. Reno forced himself out of the reverie and pointed his focus back to what Rufus was saying.

"Tseng and I... have discussed the mission, and we have come to a decision that does not leave this room." Everyone stilled further, save for the soft 'tap tap' of Thorn's robotic hand on the wooden table surface. Even he was ignoring it. Rufus, to everyone's surprise, had been more than patient with their ailing boss, and continually sought out his advice, support, and thoughts, even as Tseng himself insisted he was not ready to take part. Reno found himself getting anxious. They had altered orders before, but never actually changed them, and from the rebellious light in his eye, he had a feeling Rufus knew this could be trouble.

"Your orders are to hunt down two 'escaped and dangerous experiments,' that one Professor Hojo reported." The sneer on Rufus's face said everything the entire room was thinking in regards to Hojo. "Instead, the team we send will investigate the manor, and duplicate or memorize all the files within. When you report to the president, you will tell him that you were unable to locate the trail, and are continuing the search. If any of you not on the mission are asked by the president, you will tell him how hard the team his working, and express worry for the success of the mission." Everyone in the room was silent for a moment, and then the grins started appearing on everyone's faces. Mary raised a hand and Rufus nodded permission to her.

"What if they really are dangerous?" she asked, though she was obviously reluctant to say anything that would encourage her friends being put in danger. Rufus's nose wrinkled slightly, but not at Mary herself. Everyone knew the boss had a soft spot for the semi-gentle Turk.

"Then the president is welcome to send his Soldiers or Troopers after them," he replied. Reno couldn't stop the grin sliding across his face as he sat back in his chair and listened to the meeting progress, with all of them discussing who would go. The grin didn't fade until he looked to the door and found Tseng standing just inside it, listening in, and with a grim, weary expression on his face. And then, quite suddenly, he was assaulted by old curiosity, and the renewal of the feeling that something was being hidden from him. He had guessed for some time that the loyalty of their boss had been shifting from the president to the man who would succeed him, but this seemed like a strange thing to defy him on. They hadn't been ordered to take out, or even engage the experiments, from what Reno had heard of the orders, and yet they were being ordered not to even follow. Surely they weren't that dangerous.

His name was mentioned in the line up for the team, and he let a rakish smile cross his face, even as he inwardly cringed to hear everyone agree he should lead the mission. He knew exactly what that meant—more work. And indeed, as the room started clearing out, he was handed a thick file by Rufus, who shot him a slightly apologetic half-smile that Reno knew was faked. He'd gotten good at reading the young man as both of them struggled to help Tseng without loosing their minds. And when he looked in Rufus's eyes, he knew the young man was in on Tseng's secret, whatever it was, and that he would never be. He forced a smile as he took the papers and flipped them open, only to jump when a thin hand clamped on his shoulder. He whirled to find Tseng looking at him with his slightly mismatched eyes.

"Do _not_," he grated, his voice smoother than when he awoke, but still a far cry from the easy, unaccented speech from a year ago, "go looking for trouble, Reno. I know you have a penchant for useless recklessness." Reno bristled, and held himself in check only through the firmest control of his will.

"I follow the fucking orders, Tseng," he snapped, rising and pulling away from the man's touch. "Your fucking orders. Stop treating me like an incompetent rookie. _You're_ the one who made me second in command, after all. Take a damn breath, yo." Reno picked up the files, refusing to let himself look at either of his bosses and feeling both of their scrutinizing gazes fixed on him. He stormed out without another word to either of them, incensed, and hurt by the lack of faith both of them seemed to have in his abilities, and willingness to keep their secrets. When he was done, Rufus turned to Tseng with a faint frown.

"Was that necessary?" he asked sharply, his body language changing the minute Reno closed the door behind himself, leaving the two alone. Tseng met his gaze calmly and settled in one of the chairs in the room, one hand automatically going to massage his left thigh, which still troubled him from time to time. Usually after he over-worked himself. Rufus narrowed his gaze on the hand before turning back to studying his mentor. Tseng's lips turned downwards briefly.

"It was," he asserted. "Reno will be more cautious to follow orders with a slight against his abilities, whereas otherwise he would find a loop hole. And we cannot risk him finding out. Not yet. If he were to kill the president for it, we would be unable to protect him." Rufus scowled and crossed his arms.

"You're certain it's them?" he asked. He had his doubts, when Tseng had explained it all to him, but a lifetime of trusting the man had trained him not to question the once impassive Wutaian.

"There was no other life within that lab capable of escaping, Rufus." There was a trace of a sigh in the words, and Rufus watched with lowered lids as Tseng appeared to phase out for a moment—a new and frustrating habit—and when he spoke again, it was with something like regret.

"It can be no others than Sephiroth and Zack," he said softly, "and when they come, they will kill all who stand against them."


	19. The Hope Only

**A/N: Hi again, everyone! I missed you! This story and I have been fighting, but I think you'll be pleased with the outcome of the battle. As ever, thank you all for reviewing and reading! I think I've hit my stride again, so enjoy the benefits! Special thanks to Rakuengaki for being truthful enough to let me know I needed to re-write this chapter. Trust me. You owe her thanks as well.  
**

**Also, let me go ahead and plug my new story! Love the remnants? Enjoy Loz and Yazoo? Want a fic about them? Go check out A Brutal Teacher, my new reminant-centered canon-based fic! I'd love to have you all as readers on that one too! LOVE YOU ALL!**

**Disclaimer: They still aren't mine!  
**

Chapter 19—The Hope Only

Zack, looking back on it, would have no idea how they survived the first night out of the labs. By all rights, he was well aware, he and Sephiroth should have frozen to death. But whether by the grace of Gaia, or thanks to the experiments that turned them into something both more and less than human, the two of them awoke when the sky brightened, curled in each others arms. Sephiroth instantly had to break away to retch the black stigma from himself, and Zack had looked down to find himself stained by the blisters left over on his friend's skin from the pumps that had been shoved so roughly into him. They had said nothing, when the retching stopped, but simply stood, cleaned themselves off, relieved themselves, and covered the spot with surrounding snow before stumbling onwards. They didn't particularly need to speak, and Zack's mind had not stopped feeling like cotton since the moment he awoke. He guessed it must be much the same for Sephiroth, as the man started the day by almost walking off the cliff before blinking and resetting himself on the right course. Zack had just stared dumbly at him, one side of his face scrunched up in confusion. They had been walking for some ways before he realized that must have meant Sephiroth could see again.

The routine from the day before was quickly regained, though now they wordlessly traded off taking turns in the lead. When one got too exhausted of plowing through the snow, the other could tell by the set of their shoulders. Or that's how Zack could tell. For all he knew, Sephiroth was reading his mind. He was too exhausted and numb to test out his brilliant theory. The only breaks they took were to allow Sephiroth to vomit up more of the black goo, and wipe the fresh, oil-like blood from the blisters on his neck and chest. It was too cold to bother with the ones on his legs. Zack wished he had the energy to make a dirty joke, but when the only break from the monotony of walking is watching your best friend choke up blood and bile into the snow, while his neck positively drips a similar substance and the stains on his shirt grow, it gets difficult to think of _anything_ particularly pleasant. He was so fed up he took to destroying the pools of stigma left behind, and only belatedly realized that was a good idea anyway.

If Zack was exhausted, Sephiroth had to be worse. After every heart-wrenching, gut-numbing explosion of the black liquid from between his pale lips, he would go utterly still. Zack had never had a good grasp of time, but he guessed it was for a minute at least. Long enough for him to wet the rag in potion, set the fire materia to its work, and clean the blackness off his skin with weary determination. When he came to afterwards, they still didn't speak. It worried Zack that the frozen moments seemed to get longer with every wave of sickness. He couldn't for the life of him think why getting it _out_ of him would make it worse, but then, he couldn't think much at all. The snow stung his open, unseeing eyes, and tore at his cheeks, and he longed for Gongaga.

Eventually, they found The Bridge. It had taken on a life of its own, in Zack's mind. The invisible grail at the end of a long journey. Trudging through the snow, he had been certain they would never see it. Now that he did see it, he wished he hadn't. It was enormously long, and covered in frost and snow, and looked like it would be hard-pressed to support a kitten, much less two enhanced battle-ready heavily-armed Soldiers. Sephiroth stopped at the edge of the bridge, and Zack saw the tension bleed out of his shoulders. He caught him before he had time to fall, and almost sighed in pleasure at the feeling of his warm blood flowing from the cut Masamune left in his arm. At least he was warm on the inside.

Sephiroth's head lolled back on his shoulder, and Zack let out a long breath, steadying himself. The sound of chopper blades haunted the distance, and for a moment, Zack felt as though there was something behind him, creeping forwards—some shadow he would never be able to face. When he turned, there was nothing, but he knew what it was. Hojo. The mansion. The inevitable pursuit of Shinra. He briefly curled against Sephiroth, letting his firm body, cold though it was, anchor him briefly, and pulled away with stigma staining his hand from the mark on Sephiroth's chest. He didn't care in the slightest. He took a strong breath, and rose to his feet once more, feeling his legs shaking beneath him, and forbidding them to give out. He pulled Masamune off his friend's back, and stabbed it easily into the frozen snow, then, with a faint grunt of effort, he hauled Sephiroth over his shoulder, careful to place him on the same side as the Buster sword's dull edge. Sephiroth didn't make a noise. With a soft inhalation, Zack pulled the over-long katana from the ground, and stepped onto the bridge, not allowing himself the luxury of trepidation. It groaned painfully under his step, and Zack decided his strategy in an instant. He crouched, still halfway off the bridge, tightened his grip around Sephiroth, twisted Masamune so that its blade touched the ground behind him, and sprinted.

Nearly all the wooden planks held under his weight as he screamed across the thing, the thunder of his footsteps filling his world and echoing in the cavernous hole below them. Behind him, Masamune sang as it cut through the half-frozen wood, slicing the bridge neatly in half as Zack passed. By the time Zack made it to the end, he was, at least, certain that no one would follow them over that path. For good measure, with an apology to the fine blade in his hands for using it for such a common purpose, he sliced through the ropes still bridging the gap and watched them slump gracefully through the air, vanishing into his blindness almost instantly.

And then, left with a shoulder-full of Sephiroth and a sword completely unsuited to him, Zack started to walk again, listen to Masamune hum unhappily through the air as the man who was not its master walked on holding it.

"You'll just have to suck it up," Zack croaked to the sword, the first words he'd spoken all day. His voice sounded hollow and flat. He frowned. Aerith wouldn't like hearing him sounding like that. He cleared his throat and shifted Sephiroth's weight, then repeated the phrase. He aimed for what he remembered his voice like, and the cheerful notes sang out of him with only a hint of disuse staining them. He frowned at the fakeness of the words, and tried to remember how it had felt being happy. He was happy now, or at least he was supposed to be, but he couldn't seem to grasp what he once had been. He wondered, darkly, if Aerith would even recognize him. If they were to die out here, he wasn't sure Angeal would recognize either of them. So much had changed...

The sun,it seemed, had gone down, for the world had darkened around him. Zack allowed himself a hint of pleasure at the dimness, but he was far too worn out to enjoy it properly. He was starting to run through breathing exercises in his head, and decided that, really, captivity had made him a moody pregnant woman. Then he decided he was probably delirious and needed to find somewhere for them to sleep. He seemed to remember that when they went _up_ the mountain, he had noticed some caves that he might be interested in monster-hunting around. Of course, the disastrous meeting with Sephiroth in that hall of books had successfully driven any thoughts of something so enjoyable from his head. Now the distant memory of monster-infested caves felt like a daydream.

His fingers were having trouble keeping their hold on Sephiroth, too frozen to close properly, and Masamune burned in his grip. Now that he had forced his fingers around the blade, he had a feeling getting them to let go might be somewhat difficult. His breath was misting before his face in the darkness, and he realized with a start that the darker it got, the better his sight became. Not long after he realized he could see a little, he found that the snow wasn't quite as deep, now coming up only to his knees rather than his ankles, which meant, at least, that less of it froze onto Sephiroth's hair as he lay draped limply over Zack's shoulder. He was sure as shit getting scolded for this. He forced a smile to his chapped lips, and ignored the sharp sting as the skin split, bleeding sluggishly down his chin. He refused to allow himself to lick it away, too disgusted by the impulse to slake his thirst that way. He had water in his pack, if he could just find somewhere to stop for a while without risking falling asleep in the middle of the snowy tundra.

At last, after what seemed like miles, Gaia smiled down on them. Or they just found a cave. Zack's faith always came with a grain of salt these days. The moment he managed to haul himself and his friend's limp body into the cave, past the line of the snow, he dropped to his knees, and tilted, letting Sephiroth's limp form roll off his shoulder to lie in a tangle on the hard dirt. He crouched there, on his hands and knees, with the buster sword weighing him down from above, for a long moment, listening to the rasp of his breath in the dark, and the wet sound of Sephiroth's lungs.

He allowed himself just long enough slumped there to catch his breath, mostly, before crawling to Seph's side, too weary to bother standing to cover the short distance between them. The silver haired man's eyes were moving behind his eyelids, and Zack patted his cheek lightly to see if his attention could be gained, and split into an enormous grin when those striking eyes instantly slitted open.

"Hey, Seph!" he attempted to cry, instead managing to grate something along the lines of 'hesff.' With a scowl, he reached a shaking hand back into his pack to pull out the canteen they'd been given and unscrew it. It was a good piece of equipment, and was still mostly full. Any cheaper, and Zack was certain the water would be frozen through. He took a quick swig and offered it to his friend, still lying on the floor looking up at him out of slightly dazed eyes. Sephiroth nodded, but his hands didn't lift, and Zack didn't even comment as he helped the man sit and carefully fed him the water. It was as routine as drinking himself. They both basked, for a moment, in the taste of something other than blood or stigma in their mouths. Then Zack grabbed Masamune and pulled her over, placing her by Sephiroth's hands as he shoved himself to his feet, managing to stumble into the wall of the cave without doing much damage.

"I'm checking for monsters," he informed, pleased that this time almost all the words made it past his lips in a recognizable form, though his tongue seemed to be about a quarter of a mile away from his brain, playing hopscotch instead of doing its job. Sephiroth only nodded and struggled to sit up against the wall. Zack didn't offer his help, since it wasn't requested, then dropped the pack of supplies next to Sephiroth, pulling out a protein bar and pressing it into the slender, frozen hands. He didn't wait around for Sephiroth to refuse the meager supplies, and instead turned to the dark end of the cave, ignoring the howl of the wind outside, and the glaring brightness behind him.

With each step, it seemed to get warmer, though it was difficult to tell how much of that was his body re-heating itself from the movement and lack of snow. He was starting to shiver, and took it as a good sign. Shivering was one step further away from freezing than he had been ten minutes or so ago. The cave's floor was almost smooth, and only one or two rocks impeded his way. He seemed to stub his toe on every one of them though, and once managed to trip right into a low spot in the ceiling. With a few choice words muttered to the world at large as he rubbed his forehead, he continued.

The cave went on for what seemed like ages, but when he looked back he could still see the glow from the entrance lighting up the world behind him. The walls were moist, and held a strangely rippled texture, but they were smooth, and almost pleasant. When Zack abruptly ran into the end of the cave, he had been so distracted by the wall that he ran into it face first. A few more choice words filled the space around him, and the faintest hint of a chuckle reached his ears, alerting him that Sephiroth was still within hearing range.

"Oh stuff it, Seph," he called back loudly.

"What, exactly, am I stuffing?" asked a voice, much closer than Zack had anticipated. He jumped in surprise, and felt his hair brush the ceiling above him. Sephiroth's eyes were glowing faintly in the darkness, and his hair and skin seemed to shine with a light of their own. Zack blinked once or twice, then sighed heavily. He ought to have known by now that Sephiroth did as he pleased, and that if being weak didn't please him, he wouldn't be weak for long.

"_Now_ you're awake," he griped. "You're like a damn lizard, Seph." Sephiroth's hummed note of disinterest didn't get him off the hook for Zack's explanation of that statement. "Because, you know, they're cold blooded and if a lizard gets in the snow--"

"I am well versed in biology, Zackary," Sephiroth's slightly halting but unbearably superior voice interrupted smoothly. "You need not go on." The green irises trailed around the room, and Zack followed suit with a long-suffering sigh of consent, and followed suit, looking around the end of the cave as well, and ignoring the soft cough from Sephiroth's direction, since it didn't seem imminently life-threatening. Something glinted red in his vision, and he blinked, squinting in that direction.

"Hey, Seph, did you see--" without a word, Sephiroth strode past Zack towards the glint and Zack blinked at him. "Oh, well, I guess ya did, then, huh." The silver general remained silent, which was not unusual in and of itself. However, the trepidation in his already slightly stiff stride was not, and neither was the way he fell utterly still just before reaching the glinting object. "Seph?" Zack called, worried this was a repeat of the post-stigma stillness he'd seen earlier in the day. Instead of remaining unmoving as the statue he so resembled at times, Sephiroth slumped slowly to his knees. Zack was at his side in an instant, fingers flying to the pulse on his neck, just to be sure. The heartbeat was thundering under his skin, and he, like Zack, was warming, out of the wind. Zack stared at the empty, blank look on his face, searching it for a sign of the emotion he had become so used to reading, but Sephiroth had closed himself like a bank's vault.

"Don't do that," Zack breathed in a pleading voice that was almost a whine. "C'mon, Seph, don't close off again. Not now. _Please._" Sephiroth remained immovable, and Zack, in frustration and blooming despair looked down at what he had seen glinting. The red blade was covered in dirt, and appeared to have been abandoned there for long time, but a soft light from outside still caught on it like an old and broken friend, lighting the few pieces of the blade not covered in filth. Zack caught his breath. He knew that blade. He knew what it felt like, slamming against the Buster sword's edge, and cutting across flesh like a hot knife through butter. He couldn't repress the shudder of revulsion and anger the sight of it raised in him.

"That's..." he hissed.

"Rapier." Sephiroth finished, in a different voice entirely. Zack whirled to stare at him, startled by the stark, flat quality of his voice as pale hands reached out to lift the blade free of the earth around it. It came loose with a little reluctance, the top layer of dirt sliding free of its edge. Sephiroth held it in careful hands, and smoothed a palm over the top of the blade, removing more of the clinging dirt, and smearing what didn't come free. The blade glowed dimly under the touch, and Sephiroth bowed his head, curling over the blade as though it were a long-lost friend. Zack watched him with amazement almost like horror. The soft, high sound escaping Sephiroth was anything but calm, and yet his face remained utterly impassive behind his bangs.

"Seph," he breathed softly, watching the man's broken misery, his chest aching. "He tried to destroy you, and kill me. You don't have to--"

"He needed me, Zackary," Sephiroth spoke, his voice flat and dispassionate, in sharp contrast with the hunched, tragic position he was curled into around the glowing blade "And I killed him as surely as I killed Cloud."

Zack fell silent, standing and taking a step back from Sephiroth, stunned by his misery, and feeling the fury building within him. It was a pathetic picture, Sephiroth hunched over his only reminder of the friend who had destroyed the lives of everyone he loved, though his selfishness. Despite every speech he had ever made to Sephiroth during their imprisonment about his humanity, this was the only proof anyone might have needed, and Zack hated it. Old, almost forgotten hatred seethed to the surface in him upon seeing the decent, tormented man he had come to know mourn for a true abomination like Genesis.

"He stole everything from us," Zack snapped, the need to fight Sephiroth's misery overwhelming his people skills, which told him in no small terms that Sephiroth needed this—needed the closure Genesis's sword provided. His words were ignored.

"He never would have left you behind," Sephiroth said softly to the blade, not looking up at Zack. His thumb was wiping away the dirt from the rune-covered blade, left in the cave to moulder. Zack grit his teeth against fury, knowing it wouldn't be in any way helpful. Genesis was dead, and he knew well he ought to let Sephiroth have peace to mourn his friend in, but...

"Zackary," he was suddenly and sharply addressed. He looked down to find Sephiroth's face completely hidden by his somewhat ratty bangs, and his hand trembling slightly on the glowing sword. "Leave me."

His body obeyed the command even before it fully registered, turning and marching him further up towards the edge of the cave, leaving Sephiroth to the misery of a lost friend no one else in the would would have mourned for. Halfway back to the entrance, where the glow was brighter, but not enough to injure his eyes, Zack leaned against the smooth wall and slid down to sit at its base, staring blankly across the dim hallway and feeling old. He was over twenty now, but he felt more like Angeal's father, spending his life for a sword that his son would never use. What good would come of him saving Sephiroth anyway? Of saving himself? The world as they had both known it was gone.

Zack bowed his head, arms hanging limply at his sides, and feeling the weight of his mentor's blade. What would they do now? They were free. Excellently, wonderfully, mind-numbingly free. Entirely free to freeze, or starve, or vanish into obscurity in the mountains, or destroy one another... any one of a million things. What were they supposed to do? Go back to Shinra, where they had been handed over to a psychopath for no apparent reason? Wait for Hojo to die of old age?

"Shit," he cursed softly. "Angeal, if you're listening, punch Genesis for me. This is all his fault anyways," he muttered, careful to keep his voice low enough for only the spirits to hear. he didn't particularly want to interrupt Sephiroth's grief. He just wanted to revive Genesis and kill him again for making Sephiroth grieve at all.

And then suddenly, it struck him full on. He was apart from Sephiroth, and wasn't afraid for him, for the first time in years. He knew the other man was there, just a few paces away, and that he could go to him if he wanted, and that no one was going to come and take him away while Zack was busy thinking, and that even though Sephiroth was hurt, no one was going to make it worse. So far, even the bitch Jenova didn't seem to have caught up to them. They were _free_.

And suddenly, the cynicism didn't matter anymore, and neither did what they would do next. He didn't care if they decided to live in this cave for the rest of their lives. If he was hungry, he'd go hunting. If he was cold, well, there were trees around and they had fire materia. If he was lonely, he knew Sephiroth would pull out of his misery for him, because he'd done it a million times before, just as Zack would put aside his rage for Sephiroth's sake. With a firm nod to himself, and a wide, joyous smile that felt so heartbreakingly familiar on his face, and so unusual, Zack stood up, wiped the tears from his face, and walked back to his only friend.

He said not a word, when he once again entered the same place as Sephiroth, but took Buster off his back and walked over to him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. When Sephiroth didn't pull away, Zack knelt at his side and slid an arm around his shoulders, looking down at the dirtied fingers stroking the lively red blade, and understanding entirely. He didn't pull Sephiroth into a hug, or try to convince him that Genesis was in a better place, or say that he forgave the redhead, because he didn't believe either of them. But he stayed anyway, kneeling by his best friend's side, because hatred was not nearly as important as the cathartic, cleansing sorrow that Sephiroth was being forced to face. They stayed like that for a long time, without Sephiroth really acknowledging his presence, then he suddenly found himself being leaned upon, and a small smile caught on his lips again. He bit back the reassurances he wanted to murmur, because Sephiroth didn't need that yet. He just needed someone to stay with him, despite his abrasiveness. He needed someone who knew him as a man and not a general, like Genesis and Angeal had done before.

And that, at least, if not safety or work or comfort, Zack could provide for him, though he did so with a slightly heavy heart, and the sinking realization that they would have to figure out how to carry one more sword.


	20. At Five o'Clock in the Morning

**A/N: Well... this was a long time in coming. I'm very sorry for the long delay, but I didn't want to post a downright bad chapter for you all, but this plot point needed to be hit, and I couldn't get it quite right... what you see before you now is the result of weeks of re-writes and head-desking. However, I'm rather proud of how it turned out. Be forewarned. Chocolate may be necissary. At least, I hope it will be, because I went for the kill a little. Have fun!**

**As always, huge thanks to my beta Rakuengaki and to everyone who's been reading, especially my awesome reviewers! Thank you! You're the ones who keep me inspired! Also, if you want some reminant goodness, please check out my new Final Fantasy story A Brutal Teacher. It's something different alright.**

**I still don't own this fandom!  
**

Chapter Twenty--At Five o'Clock in the Morning

Reno was pissed. In fact, Reno was more than pissed. Reno was ready to bring a shotgun to a board meeting, kill the entire fucking bunch of Shinra bigwigs and then himself, so that he could find said bigwigs and kill them again. The cause of his anger stared up like him like a crucified angel: his last pack of cigarettes, sitting crushed on the floor of the Nibelheim Manor, with his broken lighter oozing flammable liquid at its side onto the dust covered floor. Reno was filled with the sudden urge to strike a spark to it and light a pyre for his miniature fallen comrade. The mental humor rang hollow even in his own mind. He didn't want to be here, and he knew that Aerith wanted him to be here even less. She'd told him, outright, the night he'd told her about Tseng's injury (the bastard) that she didn't want him poking around in the very lab he was headed to. Too bad Reno Sinclare had bosses bigger than a flower girl.

Reno doubted that Tseng's mind was clear enough to think about such trivial details as whether Rude would be able to keep Reno's nose out of things that didn't need to be known. He was still having troubles with putting on his suit and tying his shoes. The day before they had left, Reno had gone to check on him in his room only to find his stoic boss crumpled at the side of his bed, leaning there in misery and staring blankly ahead. He hadn't moved an inch when Reno knelt to undo his tie for him and help him undress, and hadn't so much as looked at his once-favorite redhead. His shame had been palpable. Reno had hoped, after the first horrible stages of recovery, that everything would get better with time, but it had only gotten worse. At least when it began, Tseng hadn't been aware of how much of a beating his infamous Wutaian pride was taking. Now he was proud again, and was forced to constantly abandon that pride in order to simply make it through the day. No amount of fondness would make that all right. He hadn't spoken to Reno for hours after that, even after the slum rat, at a loss, had made them both tea and settled in the living room with Tseng, then clothed in a bath robe he had not been able to tie shut alone. When the other man finally spoke, he asked the same question he had asked Reno every day for a month, in leu of actual conversation.

He had talked to him when first recovering about everything. About whether everyone was alright, about what had happened, about how he hadn't meant it, when he said he hated them all, or that he had, and he was sorry it was true. Now there was only one question he ever asked.

'How's Aerith?'--the only words Reno got from the man who had been both a father and an inspiration to him—who had saved his life, and given him meaning and purpose, only to have everything stripped away of himself. It was enough to make Reno wish he _wasn't_ making a full recovery. Maybe then he wouldn't have been so miserable and angry. As it was, the only two words Tseng ever spoke to him any more were 'how's Aerith,' as though Reno was the only one on Gaia who spoke to her, and as though Tseng didn't have lips of his own. Not that every Turk in the company didn't understand why he didn't want to talk to her at the moment. She first concented to come to Shrina, at last, Tsseng was sick, and hurting, and lost in his own mind, and his walls were down. When he saw her, gleaming like an angel, coming to check on him, he'd told her he loved her, and he couldn't forgive himself for that. So he ignored her, as though she didn't exist to him anymore, unless he was around Reno. He'd checked around. Tseng didn't ask anyone else that question. Just him. 'How's Aerith.' It made him want to tell the damn bastard he didn't know and didn't care, and he'd see him at work in the morning if he could remember which direction his feet were supposed to point.

He never said anything of the kind. He didn't even really remember what he'd said. Something about her turning everyone into a pansy and trying to braid flowers in his hair, if she had any flowers to do so. It was only a half lie, and if Tseng had caught it, he hadn't called Reno on it. Reno never mentioned the burning doubt in Aerith's eyes, or the fact that she wasn't actually surprised that Tseng loved her, or that she knew the man was too honorable to do anything bout it. In fact, she'd compared the Turk to Angeal. Reno had winced at the comparison, and knocked on wood as soon as he had the chance. He didn't need Tseng deciding the world would be better off if his protege killed him. He was unwilling to admit that it was halfway because he wasn't sure if it would be him or Rufus chosen as the protege, and he knew Ruf wouldn't be able to handle it. The kid was tough, but he wasn't a Turk. Not in the truest sense of the word.

After he'd relayed the news of Aerith, he'd tried to convince Tseng to eat, and received only stony silence and a blank stare from his leader until he couldn't handle it any more and had left, just barely managing not to slam the door. He had no idea what Tseng thought he was doing, pushing him away, but his patience was stretched thin enough, and he didn't have the time to try and work through Tseng's crap with a mission calling his attention away. He'd hoped it would be distracting. Unfortunately, what had in the briefing sounded like a daring, power-filled and conclusive, if silent, stand against Shinra was turning out to be far less glamorous than he had envisioned. In fact, just about everything in his life was turning out less brilliant than he'd thought they would be, himself included.

He was broken, and he knew it. He'd never even dreamed, as a younger man, that he would have to put up with being twenty five. He'd planned to die at nineteen, like any self-respecting slum kid. Then along had come the Turks, and he'd seen for himself, quite suddenly, a dazzling, powerful future with them, where he could do as he pleased, and make the world bow to Reno Sinclare's will. It seemed the world in general had fought back against that assumption. He'd never thought he'd be the second in command of a decrepit and dying team, with a useless leader and a kid trying to survive as the boss. Never thought he'd have a fuck-buddy so long that they'd get into fights like a married couple and cry on each other's shoulders. He knew whatever he and Kunsel had wouldn't last much longer, but damned if he wouldn't miss having someone warm in his bed. Maybe next time he could find someone without enough Mako in their system to give him a drug high every time they went bareback. Though seriously, it wasn't like he minded. It just... was a little reminiscent of a time in his life he wasn't up to talking about with Kunsel.

And now, like everything else in his Gaia-damned life, his cigarettes and lighter were fucked up. He growled and kicked the slowly dissolving corpse of the mako enhanced monster responsible. It didn't help that he could tell Rude was laughing behind his sunglasses. Not that he begrudged his partner. He needed every mote of amusement he could wring from life, just like the rest of them. The silent Turk hadn't complained much, even to Reno, but their nights of drinking together as partners had turned into nights sitting together in dark rooms and silently wishing that things were different. It was hard to be happy anywhere anymore, even with your best friend and a bottle of booze. At least Rude had stayed by Reno's side, solid and unmoving and under-appreciated as ever. Though, as far as Reno was concerned, it was a remarkable sign of his appreciation that he had not yet hit Rude over the head with the nearest blunt object, which just happened to already be in his hand, sparking happily. Reno scowled at his weapon. He wished _he_ was a mag-rod. They were happy as long as they got to electrocute something once in a while.

"You alright, partner?" Rude's gruff voice finally cut through the musty air. Reno scowled at him for the trace of a laugh he hadn't bothered to hide in the stoic, usually emotionless words.

"You got a smoke, _partner?"_ he wheedled, half because he was actually frustrated and half because playing it up amused the bald badass. Sure enough, Rude was chuckling again, and Reno had his cue to launch into a full blown whine-out. As long as Rude was in a good mood and the feeling was light between the two of them, Reno could complain all he wanted as loudly as he wanted without worrying about whether Rude would be upset.

"This is bullshit," groused Reno to himself. Rude grunted in agreement, pulling a cloth out of his pocket to wipe the most recent monsters blood off his favorite leather gloves, his sunglasses glinting in the dim light of the hallways. Reno grimaced at his blood-spattered mag-rod and wished he'd had the foresight to bring something to clean it with. He was sloppy with how he wore his suit, but he wasn't _about_ to clean is weapon on the much-despised jacket.

"This place is massive, yo," Reno continued in a whine. The exact same sound came from his partner, but this time it meant 'well, yes, it is, so we had better keep working, hadn't we?' Reno scowled at the back of his partner's bald head, and almost slung his weapon over his shoulder, as usual, before blinking and wrinkling his nose at the blood on it.

"This sucks," he reiterated. "And I don't _care_ that I'm not outside anymore, I'm still cold as _shit_. My navy is shrinking, yo!"

Rude's lack of reaction did little to dampen Reno's complaints. After all, they'd been partners for so many years they didn't really _need_ to talk at all. Which was good, because Rude had never really talked in the first place. Every once in a while, he would come out with some random shit that Reno couldn't have guessed, but usually he let his obnoxious and scrappy sidekick do the talking for them both. They were a unit through and through, and neither of them would ever have done anything to damage the other.

Of course, they were still Turks, and a little bit of danger came with the territory. It wasn't like they were both about to fling themselves in the path of a bullet or anything. Neither of them was stupid or self-sacrificial. There'd been enough of that in their group already, and they had agreed, quietly, that neither of them would die for the other unless the only other option was for both of them to die. The knew from experience that it only made things harder on the one left behind. The memory of Leo's empty, weary eyes weighed heavy on both of them.

"Uugh, gods damn it if I open _one more door_ and run face first into a monster, I'm going straight back to Shinra, hunting down Hojo and shooting him. Ten times. What the hell kinda scientist doesn't clear all the monsters outta his lab, huh?"

"Hn," replied Rude stoically.

"Yeah, right, a bad one," Reno muttered. He kicked in another door, EMR at the ready, only to find the room completely still and quiet. It was dark, and he pushed the door open the rest of the way, waiting until it connected with the wall behind it solidly to venture in, unwilling to fall for the old 'standing behind the door' trick some of the monsters had been trying to pull. He found the light switch, and let out a moan.

"A room full of _coffins?_" he moaned, "seriously!? What is this, a vampire romance or some shit? Does he think we're in a damn Gothic novel? Son of a _bitch_."

"Reno," Rude warned softly.

"Yeah, yeah, I gotcha, yo." Reno grumbled, turning to exit the room. But as he reached the door, he realized he just couldn't bring himself to do it. He was a turk, through and through. Why bother fighting curiosity? After all, his entire job was based on it. He turned back to look at the grim reminders of mortality, and felt a wide smirk settle on his face.

"Actually, I'mma check these out a little closer, yo," he called out the door behind himself. Rude grunted an affirmative, as though he had known that was exactly what Reno would do. Which he probably had. Some days, it was really fun working with such an intuitive bastard. He slunk forward, cracking his neck as he went, and checked the charge on his mag-rod briefly, smirking to himself when he found it already replenished and ready to go. Folks could say what they wanted about Mako, but it sure as hell got the job done.

He nudge the steel toe of his shoe under the lid of the first coffin, grinning to himself at the ingenious addition of steel-toed dress shoes to the Turk uniform, then with a concentrated effort kicked the old thing off the grim box beneath it. The bug that came screaming up at his face was neatly dispatched by the mag-rod he held ready beside his head. He smirked at the smell of the thing as it sizzled.

The bugs proved almost cathartic, as they provided a set of easy targets for Reno to take down, and he caught his mood lightening, despite his previous assertion regarding monsters. With a snicker, he kicked the lid off the next coffin as well, and neatly dispatched another batch of five.

"Hey Rude," he called as he flicked his EMR off to recharge briefly, "these bug things make this awesome little buzzin' noise when you swat 'em!" The faintest echo of the other Turk's grunt carried to Reno, and the tattooed Turk snickered before turning to the coffin in the center of the room. It was the only one that looked remotely placed, rather than thrown in haphazardly, and Reno wondered if that meant there was a boss-bug inside or something. He checked his mag-rod's charge one more time, then sauntered over, steeling himself for a fight, and kicked the lid off with a groan of wood, raising his weapon instantly. Nothing happened. In confusion, he looked down, and met a pair of scarlet eyes staring up at him. The room was silent for a long moment.

"Uhh, Rude? The corpse is looking at me," Reno called to his partner, even as he studied the chalk-white skin around those strikingly inhuman eyes, and the red collar that rose up from the tattered cloak covering most of his frame to hide his mouth and chin. He looked like a proper corpse, all the way up to the bright scarlet eyes. Leave it to Hojo. Rude's dim reply was drowned by a rumble from the body.

"Who are you?" the corpse questioned, the words deep and gravely, floating up from behind the hood as though there was no fabric between his mouth and the rest of the world to muffle them. "Why have you disturbed me?" Reno gaped at the body.

"Rude, now the corpse is talking to me!" he warned his partner, not entirely sure this wasn't a flashback brought upon himself during his wilder days in the slums. When he heard the rustle of movement that indicated his parter was coming, he shook his head slowly, still gazing at what ought to have been a body, and most certainly was not. "That Hojo's a helluva guy," he muttered to himself. Dark eyebrows raised just a fraction of an inch, without the steady crimson gaze changing in the slightest, and Reno found himself reminded of Tseng. Before he could blink, the body had moved, in a swirl of black and crimson, and was standing perched on the edge of his own coffin.

"You know Hojo," the grating voice half-asked and half-accused, even as Reno jumped back and flipped his mag rod back on. For a long moment, the two of them stood in a gridlock of gazes, then Reno straightened from the fighting stance he'd crouched into, well aware that if this freaky dead-man wanted him gone, he wouldn't even see him move. It didn't mean he was about to let his guard down, but he was hopeful he could talk his way out without getting killed.

"Not personally, yo," he said casually, not turning off the short-stick humming with electricity at his side. "Just stories and shit." He summoned his best cocky-idiot grin, shifting his weight so he looked negligent rather than competent. As far as he knew, there was no better way to beat an opponent than to force them to underestimate you. He heard Rude enter the door, but didn't bother looking up. He knew his partner would be standing there, looking cool, with his hands gloved and his suit immaculate, despite the filthy interior of the place. The crimson-eyed body standing before him only flicked a glance Rude's way before the faintest hint of an expression crossed the half-visible face. It looked like disgust.

"You are a _turk?" _the deep voiced body inquired, his brows lowering dangerously even as his eyes stayed blank. Reno sensed his incredulity, and bristled.

"Duh, yo!" he snapped, eyes narrowing slightly, "who the hell else would look this damn good in a suit?" Rude's soft groan at the less-than-cool words was ignored completely as Reno fell back into his staring contest with the man. The corpse looked at him for a long moment before huffing.

"You do not know Hojo," he said calmly, "And you are no Turk. Leave this place. It is the beginning of your nightmare. Reno felt his eyes glow at the words, and the moment the man blurred, moving to settle back in his macabre bed, he lashed out with the steel toe of his boot, wincing as he made contact and his toes were stubbed by the contact with the heavy interior. The soft sound of discomfort that came from the corpse was less than satisfying, but it was a start. It at least stopped him from lying down again.

"The hell I ain't, yo! You don't just go around insultin' me and get to go back to bed, creepy-corpse-guy." Rude grunted behind him, and Reno noted the hint of disapproval in his partner's sound, but knew he'd back him up anyhow. That was what partners were for, after all. Halfway through his thoughts as to what exactly might be going on, Reno ran into a roadblock in the form of a gun being pointed to the center of his forehead from the previously apparently unarmed and thoroughly emo corpse. He ducked, and lashed out instinctively, and found himself head first in a fight. He only noticed the brass claw on the man's left hand when it nearly took his head off, and succeeded in scratching four long lines across his cheek. Reno didn't even blink. The claw was _not_ bothering him as much as the gun. It was a _big_ bastard, and though he had better odds now that the man had brought the fight close quarters, for one reason or another, he stood very little chance against one of Hojo's experiments.

The corpse was no exception. If he was rusty after god knows how long lying still as death in a coffin, he didn't show it in his fighting. Reno was falling behind quickly in the exchange of blows, and Turks didn't come much faster than Reno. He was palming aside punches and ducking away from shots with what he knew were almost comical acrobatics, but if they got the job done, he didn't care how many people started calling him 'the squirrel.' However, he was far from upset when Rude intervened, simply stepping between the two of them like a rock wall. Reno was pretty sure he could have gone over the bigger man had he wanted to, but it was seeming like a distinctly unappealing option at that point. In fact, doubling over and gasping for air while he wondered if his vision was doubling or he really _was_ bleeding in twin droplets seemed like his best option at the time. That and not throwing up. He definitely didn't want to hurl in front of Captain Corpse. He giggled happily at the nickname, oxygen deprivation robbing him of what little sense he usually possessed. He was certain Rude was awkwardly straightening his tie.

"Hey," he gasped, "you're not bad, yo!" He had to pause to catch his breath again, then he straightened, grinning, which he honestly could have done at any moment. He was a turk, and therefore an actor. He just didn't see the point in acting with a guy like Rude backing him up and a creepy corpse staring flatly at him. He summoned a relaxed, sloppy grin, cracking his neck and ignoring the heat of blood on his face.

"What's your name, Corporal Cadaver?" he drawled. That eerie ruby gaze was waiting for him when he stepped around his mountain of a partner, tapping his fully discharged EMR at his side and wondering how the other guy was still standing. He felt the man's gaze assessing him for a long moment, then something seemed to change in the air around them, as though an inaudible scream ceased, leaving them all in silence.

"Vincent Valentine," the man growled, his cape whipping around him like a living thing in the still room. "And you will tell me why Verdot has fallen so far as to allow the likes off you in the Turk ranks while I have been away."


	21. In This Hollow Valley

Chapter 21—In This Hollow Valley

For the first time in recent memory, Zack wasn't awoken by survival instinct, or the heavy sound of boots breaking into their sanctuary to rip away what little solstice they had. Instead, he was awakened by a deep, strong voice calling his name, not incessantly or worriedly, but just once. Sephiroth had never been one to do anything in excess, including call for his friends. Zack didn't need it to be repeated anyway. The moment he heard the first syllable of his name, he was awake as thoroughly as if he had never slept, and bolted to his feet. Sephiroth gave him a slightly confused look at the reaction, but for a moment, Zack couldn't respond to the silent inquiry. He wasn't about to tell the other man his dreams had been of Nibelheim and murder. Seph was already torn up enough. When he finally managed to stop feeling like a harassed rabbit, heart thrumming in a too-small chest, he forced a grin for the man frowning quizzically at him.

"Sorry, Seph!" he chirped, "Just bad dreams! Wow, I feel different today..." He did. He felt lighter, and he didn't know why. Unless he was lightheaded from the bad dream, but that didn't seem right, somehow.

"There is something you should see," Sephiroth's voice purred. There was a hint of strain beneath the smooth, blank voice, and Zack knew they were far from out of the woods, but he tilted his head to the side and smiled anyway, and this time he meant it. Sephiroth had, for that moment, sounded like himself. Like the man Zack had known at Shinra, both well-meaning and awkward. It was endearing, and any remaining sourness the dark-haired ex-soldier might have been feeling towards Sephiroth's reaction over Genesis's sword bled away. When the silver-haired man turned and walked towards the mouth of the cave, Zack didn't even have to consider whether to follow. It was an instinct as ingrained as breathing. Zack belonged at Sephiroth's side, and that was all there was to it. With a nod to himself, he carefully tried adding a bounce to his step. It felt unnatural after years of stumbling and shuffling his feet, but he liked it. It felt like freedom, even if it wasn't perfect.

The dim light from the exit to the cave managed to hurt Zack's eyes a little, but Sephiroth walked on unhindered, so Zack followed. He was starting to feel a little better with the bounce in his stride. A little more like he needed to eat an entire Nibel wolf, but other than that, there was a vast improvement. For a heart-rending moment, he suddenly feared it wasn't real, then forced the thought away. The fear was still thrumming through his veins. They weren't far enough away. The mansion was still behind them.

The fear halted when Sephiroth did, and was replaced by an intense curiosity that Zack hadn't felt in a very long time. There had been so little new, and so little of it pleasant, that he'd thought his instinctive inquisitive nature had died out with the half of him that had yet to respond to freedom. It was as much an old friend as the Buster sword, and he welcomed it with open arms, scampering up beside Sephiroth. Scampering had the same odd feeling to it that bouncing did, but Zack didn't feel like striding or slumping, and there was nothing quite like a good scamper, especially when Sephiroth was involved.

"Wow," he commented happily, "I think I'm a little delirious. Be glad you're not in my head right now, Seph, you'd be really confused!"

"Hush," Sephiroth said calmly, but not cruelly. "Look." Zack looked, and the breath stilled in his lungs for a moment. What had only yesterday been the pure torture of white-on-white was transformed before him, and before he could think he was stepping forward. The snow was still ice cold, but the golden hue that lit it as though it were ablaze was instantly recognizable. Zack traced the gleam across the rolling hills his eyes could barely distinguish to the brightest point, and couldn't stop staring. Blanketing the sky in colors, the sun was rising.

He didn't realize he was on his knees until Sephiroth sank to one of his own at his side. He didn't notice he was crying until a leather-clad thumb wiped over his cheekbone to capture a tear, and most of all he didn't care that he was cold. If the sunrise never ended, it would be too soon. His eyes had forgotten what color was—how bright the world could become in an instant. He had forgotten that light could be warm on your skin, and as the sun fell in with a dusky, affectionate heat on his cheeks, Zack closed his eyes for just a moment, and fixed it in his memory. This one perfect moment of freedom, when it didn't matter that Sephiroth was overtaxing himself, or that he himself was feeling emptier on the inside than a Wutaian vase. None of that mattered, and neither did the four years of torment and pain, because there was the _sun_, and while Zack had been locked away, she had been rising and falling. Strangely, it didn't make him feel left out in the slightest. He found himself considering the sun like a second Buster, because the warmth on his face was too familiar and loving to have come from a stranger. The sun had waited for them, and when they were out, there she was to extend her greeting.

"I love you too," Zack told the universe at large. Sephiroth's low, rumbling chuckle was his only answer, but Zack pretended that was only because the sun had difficulties communicating verbally, much like a certain Silver General was prone to do. As the sun climbed up far enough to escape the bright colors caused by its arrival, Zack turned to his general with a faint smile.

"Everything's going to be different again, huh?" he asked softly, and Gaia he hadn't meant that to come out sounding so broken. Sephiroth only looked at him out of changed eyes for a long moment, the blisters on his neck and the faint bruised color lingering on his face no longer so out of place on him as Zack wished they were.

"Not everything," he was answered eventually. When Sephiroth stood and offered him a hand up, Zack accepted and rose carefully. It was true, he supposed, as Sephiroth let go of his hand a little faster than any normal person would have done—frankly a little faster than was polite, but it was Sephiroth. Apparently the man was absolutely right. Not everything was going to change. Just most things. Most and a half.

"Let's find something to eat and be on our way," Sephiroth suggested. "I don't count on their fear of the bridge keeping them away long."

"Uhh," said Zack with a grin, "how about the lack of a bridge, because I don't think they'll be crossing the way we did Seph." Sephiroth looked back at him as he headed back into the cave, and for just a moment the sun struck him in that way it did sometimes, where it framed his delicate features in gold and caught lovingly in his hair. Sephiroth looked like a god. Then the moment had passed, and Zack could see the shadows around his eyes and the pain in them, and knew it wasn't fair of him to consider Sephiroth godly.

"I do not wish to know," Sephiroth informed him blithely before walking back to their packs and kneeling easily before one, opening it to not so much rummage as carefully sort through the contents. Sephiroth had difficulties managing to do anything so complicatedly messy as rummage.

As ever, the nutritional bars they had been sent on with tasted like cardboard, but Zack found his eyes watering at the nostalgic taste. He even whined to Sephiroth briefly that he was going to cry at everything and Seph would tease him about being a little girl before Sephiroth had calmly replied that even little girls knew to eat what they were given without complaint. Zack had laughed so hard at the pale attempt at a joke he had forgotten what he was grousing about and had finished the sandpaper bar without thought, and found himself starting in on another. With the option there, Zack's body was reminding him that, while it _could_ now technically survive quite a few days at a time without food, it didn't _want_ to. Zack was more than happy to oblige, though he wished his stomach would have a long talk with his offended taste buds about beggars not being choosers.

They didn't talk about where they were going to go, or what they were going to do. In fact, they didn't talk at all. for a long while, they simply sat there together, and Zack basked in the way he could actually feel his limbs this morning. His eyes kept sneaking over to check Sephiroth, but the man's face was too closed off even for Zack to get a feel for what he was thinking. He at least didn't _look_ like he was suffering particularly, but Zack knew from experience that Sephiroth's pain tolerance was unbelievably high. He'd seen the man skewered straight through, and had watched him blink down at the offending limb of the monster before ripping it off without a sound. He'd also heard him beg for someone to end it—end him—but Zack tried not to remember that. It was just wrong. Like, murdering puppies wrong. Four years of torture hadn't changed that.

"Alright Seph," he said cheerfully as he cracked his neck, stretching out now that he was starting to feel his energy build up once more, his limbs stiff from the heavy exercise and fierce cold, "time to strip." The stunned, horrified look on Sephiroth's face almost sent Zack into gales of laughter, but he couldn't afford for the guy to close off right now.

"Excuse me?" Sephiroth said dryly, his eyes narrowed dangerously. Zack didn't heed the unspoken warning. As far as he was concerned, the murderous look on Seph's face no longer applied to him. Best friends were exempt from death threats. He just rolled his eyes and shifted, straddling Sephiroth's legs without putting weight on them, remembering vividly the lumpy look of his skin with tubes forced into his veins. Sephiroth only stared at him coolly out of faintly confused green eyes as Zack went to work on the buckles, his fingers a little clumsy, having not quite recovered from the severe cold, but sure enough.

"Zackary," Sephiroth warned in a low voice, "I am unharmed."

"Sorry, Seph, but I don't believe you," Zack replied easily, not bothering to hide the fact. "The last time you told me that, Hojo'd tried to cut your wing off. Ooh, and the time before that, you'd been poisoned, and before that-"

"Yes," snapped Sephiroth, interrupting with a flare of green in his gaze, "I believe you have made your point." Zack grinned at him.

"Aww, Seph, you act like I've never seen you naked before."

"Just get it over with, Zackary," Sephiroth snapped, and Zack froze for a moment as he realized that Seph really didn't want this, then he sighed softly and removed his hands to stroke them through the fall of silvery hair behind his best friend.

"I'm worried, Seph," he said softly. "I thought I was gunna loose you, and I'm still fucking terrified I will." Sephiroth leaned into his hands, his eyes falling to half mast, and the anger draining from him. "Don't be mad at me for that. Please. I can't help it."

"I know," Sephiroth replied, his voice abnormally flat. Zack wondered again what Hojo had done to Sephiroth in those last ten days to make him so damaged. Up close, in the dim light, his eyes could still pick out the minuscule, healing scars where needle and thread had pierced the general's eyelids. It made the recently devoured nutrition bars threaten to re-acquaint themselves with Zack, and he turned grimly back to his task, pulling the clasps on the general's coat carefully apart. Sephiroth didn't hinder the motions, but he didn't move either, his gaze fixed on the far wall and a faint, uncomfortable scowl on his face.

Zack pulled the coat off his shoulders slowly and carefully, then tugged lightly at the turtleneck, drawing it upwards and hissing slightly in sympathy as it stuck on the points where the black leads had pumped inhuman gunk inside him. Sephiroth didn't make a sound, but his eyes tightened ever so slightly at the corners. Zack managed to get the thing off, muttering an apology as he pulled it rather unceremoniously over Sephiroth's head. The man still didn't complain, but Zack knew how much it took to make Sephiroth complain, and he'd have killed himself before hurting him that much. None the less, he winced in sympathy at the sight of the black trails that slid down Sephiroth's sides from the blisters on his chest, and the matching ones on his neck and shoulders. He made a mental note to clean those before going, and wondered if the damned 'fire and potion' trick would even work on such greavous injuries.

"Seph," he said softly, because he needed the man to respond to him, and he had learned the hard way to take what he needed rather than waiting for Sephiroth to offer. Sephiroth wasn't good at offering, but he had never objected to Zack taking a little. In keeping with his character, his eyes slid off the far wall and back to Zack, clever and sharp, but dulled, and with that strange hint of fragility in them. Zack floundered for what to say after that, his hands automatically sliding over Sephiroth's skin, ostensibly checking for wounds, but in reality trying to comfort himself with the returning warmth in the man's skin.

"Zackary," Sephiroth said after a long moment, "it is okay." Zack took a deep breath at the words, then smiled. The expression felt easier than it had in a long time. Sephiroth was no good at lying, as both of them knew, but those words had sounded really really convincing, and Zack couldn't help the feeling of glee that welled up in him. A sunrise, and a statement like that went a long way to staunching the wound in his once unbreakable pool of inner joy. He wished he could have pulled Sephiroth into a hug right then, but strong though he was, he was still fragile, and easily confused, and Zack didn't want to risk it, so he settled for placing his hand flat on Sephiroth's abs, the only place on him he was certain wouldn't hurt, and looking into those strange, cat-like eyes he'd grown so used to and so fond of.

"Right," he said softly in return, feeling the smile on his face color the word with something like his old inflection. Then his brain got away from him again and talked his mouth into adding "so where are we going to go from here?" He flinched the moment the words left his mouth, worrying that the topic might be taboo, or that it might close Sephiroth off again, but instead the slim lips of his companion slowly widened into an honest, half-smug smile.

"Midgar," Sephiroth said calmly before falling silent once more, his eyes lighting from within for just a moment before falling into the dull glaze of captivity once more. Zack gaped at him, then shook his head slowly, and fought off the laugh he felt bubbling in his chest. It would have been a worryingly crazed sound.

"Midgar, huh? Y'know, Seph, I think that sounds pretty damn good." He replied, thinking that even if Sephiroth had suggested the bottom of the sea it would have sounded better, but knowing full well he would follow wherever his general led, come hell, high water or Shinra, though he'd take hell or high water before Shinra any day. Hell, he'd take _both_ before Shinra. He left it at that, though, and fetched the bag of medical supplies and got Sephiroth's upper half clean of stigma, trying to get a hand on how serious Seph's injuries were.

One conclusion was quite easy to draw-Sephiroth was a wreck. He was an utter wreck. His normally perfect skin was a cracked and dry imitation of its usual marble glory. The oozing blisters on his flesh hadn't healed in the slightest since the day before, despite Sephiroth's striking healing powers, and Zack knew that had to be because Sephiroth was pushing himself too hard. And that was truly startling, based on the huge amount that both of them had slept since escaping. If even this was over-taxation for the man, Zack worried about how, exactly, they were going to go on from here. It wasn't worth dwelling on, though. They'd come this far, and so, he reassured himself, there was no possible way they would fall now, when they were so close. Except he knew that wasn't quite true either.

"You are brooding," Sephiroth rumbled. Zack could feel the chest under his hands vibrate with the low voice, and it brought a smile to his face.

"I've got a lot to brood about," He teased back, though he was unsure if Sephiroth had been teasing in the first place. The older man gave a little grunt that might have been agreement, but sounded more like an acknowledgment he'd heard the words coming out of Zack's mouth.

"When you are finished," the general said with a calm, firm note in his voice, "it is time to go. we must not become too complacent." Laughter struck hollowly against the walls of the cave, echoing half-bitter chuckles back into the darkness where they had found Rapier.

"I'm good to go, Seph," Zack said, eager to cover the sound of his own abrupt amusement, disturbed by how false it sounded. "Let's go home." That sounded false too. Shinra wasn't home anymore. Nowhere was, Zack was sure, for the two of them. In the pit of his stomach and the marrow of his bones, he knew that no matter where he tried to come home, all he would remember was a white room.

When they stepped out into the snow again, it was with an added burden for them both, Sephiroth shouldering the supplies Zack had carried for so long the previous day-days?-he had forgotten. Zack, in return, shouldered the burden of his most hated enemy. Rapier lay heavy in the the sling they had fashioned for it at Zack's hip, strapped over one of his shoulders, but carefully restrained. It was as dead as its owner, as far as Zack was concerned. A dead weight he didn't need slowing him down. But it was strapped by the hilt-never meant to be drawn again-and the strap didn't encumber his own sword arm, so when the time had come to leave, he hadn't tried to get Sephiroth to leave it behind. After all, as he trudged his way through the snow, listening to Sephiroth's heavy steps behind him, and squinting against the sun he had only an hour ago found so beautiful, he knew they had both already lost too much.


	22. Interlude

**A/N: Well, it's only been forever since I updated. My deepest apologies to you all. *bow***

**I'm trying desperately not to let this story die. We've ALMOST reached the end, after all. I no longer feel like this story is particularly good, but I feel like I owe it to those of you who have fought your ways through incomprehensible plot, and unreadable writing to finish. Please be patient, and accept this sacrificial, short interlude chapter as my penance.**

**Thank you all for bearing with me this far. Not much longer now.  
**

Rising from a drugged haze, Kadaj could feel nothing. He was floating in his own body, regardless of the cold metal he could distantly feel holding his limbs down. He _liked_ the drugs. They were a rare treat, compared to being torn apart while awake. He liked the illusion of freedom they gave him, and the calmness that seemed to pervade his very existence.

Sound returned more slowly than awareness, and in a warping way, as though the Doppler effect had taken root in his skull and started wiggling its fingers in his ear drums. A warping, unreal voice forced its way through into his mind, incoherent and too loud, and Kadaj grimaced at the sound.

"Shussh," he slurred, eyes flickering open only for a moment.

A heavy sound like sobbing reverberated through the room, and was hastily covered by a laugh. The illusion of freedom crashed down around Kadaj at the sound of that laughter-that nasal, whooping, sickening chuckle was far too familiar, even warping in and out of his consciousness. The crash to reality wasn't quite complete-no amount of fear could fight off days of sedatives-but with sickening dread, Kadaj knew it was coming.

"He is always so pleasant when I return. Don't you agree, Experiment Seven?" Kadaj felt a hand pat his cheek twice, and wanted desperately to jerk away from it, even as his drugged body responded affectionately, rubbing against the contact with a pleased hum. "So compliant."

"He's drugged out of his mind," another voice argued,and Kadaj stretched what awareness he had towards that melodious, deep sound.

It was Yazoo, the one who had looked after him since he could remember, and who would always do this. Attempt to reason with the professor, though they all knew it wouldn't help.

"He is every time you go away for a long period. Two weeks of sedatives without nourishment has made him more than delirious-" the words broke off in a shattered scream of pain, and Kadaj jerked, mentally if not physically.

"You were not created to argue, Seven," Hojo's voice snapped over the continued howls of his creation's agony. When the scream finally subsided into soft whimpers, Hojo asked again. "Now, then. Don't you agree?"

"Y...Yes, professor Hojo," Yazoo's voice grated.

It shook Kadaj to the core, hearing him submit. It meant Hojo had really done something horrible. Yazoo would defend either of his brothers to the death. Kadaj tried once again to open his eyes, his tongue feeling too cottony and swollen to speak. He tried to anyway, and failed miserably, managing only a soft squeak of sound.

Hojo laughed again, and it was his white coat that filled the flash of world Kadaj saw from narrowed hazy eyes. The chuckle darkened slightly, then formed itself into warping words again, the distorted face of the wicked man and his round glasses leaning over Kadaj to gaze into his blurry eyes.

"You're lucky, my boy," he sneered.

Kadaj felt like he'd been turned to ice at the words. 'My boy' never meant anything but trouble for all of them.

"My prized experiment is a failure indeed." The scientist continued, either heedless of his victim's terror, or not caring.

He pulled away for a moment, and Kadaj wanted to scream, because he knew what was coming. He wanted so badly to be asleep again; to dream of floating freely within himself. But even his mind belonged to Hojo, as all of their minds did, and the man had returned, ready to get back to work on his 'subjects.'

"And I have decided," Hojo continued, even though Kadaj could no longer see him, his eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to block out reality, "that you will be his replacement."

Yazoo, who Kadaj could only guess was trapped apart from him, cried out in alarm and denial, only to fall once again into a fit of screaming that left Hojo cackling madly. Kadaj felt his eyes pried open by gloved finger. He fully expected the pins that slid easily through his eyelids and fastened them open, but it didn't make it any less painful.

The long needle that slid sharply into his thigh afterwards was no better, and served to clear his head completely, bringing him fully back to reality. Rather than look down at himself, for he knew exactly where he would be fastened, and exactly how impossible it would be to escape, he rolled his eyes back, straining to see his brother. Yazoo was hanging from the ceiling by his bound hands, his chin dropped to his chest as he panted raggedly in the aftermath of Hojo's punishment, and his toes a full foot off the ground.

He twisted forlornly, the movement slight and impotent, and his hands were starting to turn an ugly reddish-purple color from lack of blood, but Kadaj knew all too well that it wouldn't cause any permanent damage. Hojo could have cut Yazoo's arm _off_, and the older boy probably would have regrown it in time.

The older clone lifted his head, as though sensing Kadaj's attention, and their acid green eyes met and locked. Now that he was lucid, Kadaj knew without a doubt that Yazoo was here as punishment for some unforgivable act or another. He had, he estimated, roughly a minute while Hojo prepped him for whatever came next before he would be unable to speak to his brother again for who knows how long. His mouth still didn't work, but who needed it. They were brothers to the core.

'Don't make it worse,' Kadaj said through furrowed brows and a repressive scowl at his brother.

Yazoo watched him with a face that could be read as dispassionate. Kadaj knew his brother better than that though, and translated the empty gaze as a miserable one.

'I can't just watch,' those bright green, pained eyes said.

The half-worshiping affection in them made Kadaj a little queasy. He had never liked how attached his brothers were to him, though he depended on it at the same time.

'You can,' Kadaj insisted through a twist of his lips as Hojo approached him again.

But, looking at his slim brother's soulful face, and the electrodes attached to his slim figure, Kadaj knew he wouldn't. He could see the bright red under the electrodes where the electricity they were designed to pump into the other clone had burned him, and he allowed himself just a moment of pure hate for the man who owned them.

Then his mouth was pried open with cold metal and fastened that way, and Hojo began. By the time he was in full swing, Kadaj could no longer tell his own strangled screams from his brother's.

When he woke up again, it was blissfully encased in the arms of their eldest and most vulnerable brother. His body ached, but Loz was was always careful with him. He was sniffling piteously, of course, but Kadaj had learned to put up with it. It was part of who Loz was.

"Don't cry Loz," whispered a thin, aching voice from across the room.

Kadaj flinched, and forced himself to pull awake instead of passing out once more. He and Loz had both given up the fight against the world as it was. Yazoo had not. When Kadaj turned to glare at him, he found their caretaker splayed on the floor across the room, the movements of ribs under his skin as he breathed heavily far more noticeable than the last time Kadaj remembered seeing him while fully aware. He had obviously been given clothes again, but appeared to be resting his head on them instead of wearing them. Kadaj trailed his eyes down that expanse of pearly skin and winced at the blistered burns all down his body and the twitches that wracked his pretty frame. Then he scowled fiercely in disapproval.

"I toldja not to fight," he scolded fiercely, twisting just a little in Loz's arms and trying to ignore the ache in his chest and side.

Yazoo merely tilted his head towards him, eyes calm and affectionate as ever, but silent. Kadaj huffed and curled against Loz once more, prompting the big remnant to pull him a little closer and causing a slight amount of discomfort, but not enough to stop him from the hold by any stretch of the imagination. If they had had imaginations. Hojo had magnanimously informed all of them years ago that they were not capable of doing anything but following orders.

Feeling the warm arms of his brother around him, and the heartbeat thundering under his palm, Kadaj knew that Hojo was nothing more than a liar. He even dared to say that he worked for mother, when all three boys knew that he was her enslaver.

"That's right, my own," she said sweetly in Kadaj's mind, and he relaxed a little.

As peaceful as the tranquilizers the scientists used when Hojo wasn't there to keep him under control were, he never heard his beloved mother from within their depths. Her return meant he was himself again.

"Mother," he breathed.

Loz instantly loosened his grip and looked down at his baby brother with glistening eyes. Kadaj met that gaze with a cat-like satisfaction.

"I get to be the favorite now that he's gone, right?" he continued, not caring that his brothers couldn't hear their mother clearly.

They would know who he was talking to. They knew everything about one another. There were no secrets between the three of them. There couldn't be.

"Of course," she purred, even as Yazoo said "Sephiroth is gone?"

Kadaj answered neither, but closed his eyes in satisfaction. The loss of Hojo's prized possession meant his own salvation. Mother would not abandon them now that he was her favorite son.

"I want to be stronger," he requested softly.

His mother stirred, and instantly the aches of his body faded and he opened his eyes with renewed strength, uncaring of Yazoo's strangely tortured look, or the wide surprise in Loz's gaze. He could feel the future ahead of them—the bright promise of a place where he would be free, with his loyal brothers beside him, his mother at the planet's helm and Hojo left far behind. It was a beautiful thought, and brought an aggressive, pleased smile to his face.

"Kadaj?" Loz questioned quietly, his voice still thick with tears.

"No more crying," Kadaj said calmly, feeling infinitely more competent and powerful than he ever had before.

All he had to do was give mother the reins, and she would fix everything. Only peripherally hearing Yazoo's soft objection and seeing the fear in his eyes as he struggled to rise, Kadaj took a deep breath and gave in.


End file.
